


Hold Me Closer

by balanceds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choreographer Harry, Dancer Louis, Dancer Zayn, M/M, Rimming, we'll see if this makes any sense who knows really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balanceds/pseuds/balanceds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is one of the most promising dancers of the English National Ballet, on track to become the youngest principal dancer in the company's history. That is, until forces conspire to significantly complicate his life, including: a surprise ballet, an unfairly attractive guest choreographer, and being pushed into a rivalry with his best mate. Featuring lots of wine, dancing, pining, and a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Hold Me Closer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025138) by [AnyaLS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaLS/pseuds/AnyaLS)



> so! hopefully this will make sense to everyone. we'll see. the ballet that is heavily referenced throughout this is [matthew bourne's swan lake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk8pee0ywKY) which is amazing and you should definitely go watch! i don't own matthew bourne's swan lake or the english national ballet or any of the real people depicted as fictional characters in this story.
> 
> all 3 chapters will be up by next thursday, so don't worry about having to wait too long! a million trillion bajillion thanks to [the amazing lila](http://ratchetlila.tumblr.com), who beta'd this for me and who gave such fabulous feedback. this would basically not exist without her! all errors are mine and not hers. for this chapter in particular, many thanks to [jess](http://socomicallygay.tumblr.com), who gave me all of the swan facts used in this chapter and enabled me to be lazy and not do research on birds. any misinterpretation of said facts is mine alone. 
> 
> no smut in this chapter but it is coming in ch 2, i promise! hope you enjoy!

On the morning of what may prove to be the biggest day of his professional career, Louis wakes up, pulse racing, before his alarm can even go off. He’s not totally sure that he’s actually slept at all--it’s felt much more like he’s just been vaguely drifting in and out of a doze.

It’s understandable. Today is Contract Day at the English National Ballet, and by the end of the day, Louis might be the youngest Principal Dancer in the company’s history.

Or Simon might screw him over completely and he might be kept as a first fucking soloist for another year. Louis has learned that trying to predict the whims of his artistic director is an exercise in futility, but it hasn’t yet stopped him from trying.

Simon has probably already made his decision on whether or not to promote Louis, but that doesn’t mean that looking great is going to _hurt._ Louis made sure to save his favourite gray tights and his lucky dance belt for today. He adds a tight blue henley that he has been told sets off his eyes nicely (fine, he said it himself, sue him) and tugs on trackies for the tube ride. Louis learned his lesson at a young age about the dangers of riding the tube in just tights. Not at all worth it.

He’s buzzing with energy by the time that he makes it to South Kensington and walks into the studio doors. Just like every time he walks in, Louis can’t quite believe his luck. Not only does he get to dance for one of the premiere ballet companies in the UK, but it’s the one that truly changed his life when he saw their production of _Coppélia_ on tour when he was just eight. Somehow, in just less than twenty years, Louis has gone from being in the audience to being up for leading roles in the company.

Insane.

Louis stops off in the smallest, least used loo in the studios before morning class begins to get himself together a bit. There’s obviously a locker room that most of the dancers use, but Louis has developed his routines over the years, and one of the most necessary is not spending too much time interacting with the company before class begins. Like, Louis enjoys the gossip and incestuous nature of a ballet company, but if he hears everything before class then he tends to struggle to focus a bit. So spending time elsewhere is self-preservation, really.

After a quick piss, Louis stands in front of the mirror, adjusting his hair and adding a touch more product. Image is everything in ballet, and Louis is not too proud to admit that he cares about looking his best. He sheds the trackies from the tube and turns, craning his neck to make sure that his arse looks as delectable as he knows it ought to. Just as he gets to the right angle, the door bursts open and Louis finds himself suddenly knocked backwards into the sink.

“Oops, I’m so sorry, oh my god--are you okay?” Louis’s attacker blurts out in an attractively deep voice. Once Louis has peeled himself off the sink a bit, he gets a better look at the bloke who apparently can’t open a bathroom door safely. A bit taller than Louis, nice curly hair (even if weirdly styled, with a scarf or something in it), lovely green eyes, _great_ forearms. Wearing trackies and a tight tshirt, so probably here to audition for the corps--although he looks a bit old for that. Regardless, this lad is definitely worth Louis’s forgiveness.

“Hi,” Louis says, smiling brightly up at him with a grin designed specifically to disarm people. “No harm done. You all right there?” He gives a bit of a pointed look to the guy, who remains very much in Louis’s personal space.

The man startles and takes a step back. “Er, yeah. Sorry. Uh. I, um, didn’t realize that this toilet was so… small.”

“I’ve been knocked into in here before,” Louis admits, still smiling. “Here for an audition, then?” 

“Um… something like that,” the bloke mutters, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t seem inclined to expand on that, and Louis really does have to go.

Gathering his things, Louis tells the man, “Well, good luck with the audition or whatever. I’m Louis, by the way--and if you stick around, look for me later.” Louis caps it off with a saucy wink and sidles out the door. 

Just before the door can close, he hears, “I’m Harry!” and something that sounds suspiciously like Harry hitting his head against the wall. Louis smiles, pleased with starting the morning off with a fit lad. Hopefully it’s a positive sign of how the rest of the day will go.

All in all, he’s in a great mood heading into class, but unfortunately it’s the type of mood that does the absolute most to annoy his mate Zayn. Possibly because Louis keeps poking at him during warm-ups. Even when they’ve turned the other direction so that Zayn is behind Louis, he manages to get his arse as close as possible to Zayn’s face. 

That seems to be the tipping point, since behind him, Zayn growls, “Tommo, do that once more and I will _actually_ tell Simon that you’re sexually harassing me.” 

So, okay, time to get it together. Louis doesn’t need his manic energy to cost him a best friend, and if he’s annoying Zayn, he’s probably irritating the ballet mistress, too.

Daily class is very possibly Louis’s favourite time of the day. He can kind of take or leave warm-ups (like, obviously he can’t _leave_ them, he just doesn’t enjoy them) but the actual class and working combinations is just amazing. As corny as it sounds, Louis dances because he loves the discovery of finding out what his body can do, and figuring out how to move it in new ways. Class is perfect for that. It’s high-stakes, like everything else in dance, because Simon “Try To Top Yourself Every Day, Everyone” Cowell is always watching and judging, but class allows for experimentation in a way that rehearsal doesn’t. Louis still expects himself to nail the moves in class, but you never know quite what’s coming next.

Today the ballet mistress, Yvonne, seems to be in a mood closer to Zayn’s mild irritation than to Louis’s nervous exuberance. Even on a good day Yvonne tends to fulfil all of Louis’s stereotypes about French ballet mistresses (stern, forbidding, extremely bitter, devoid of joy), so of course today she can _sense_ that Louis is bursting with energy and decides that she has to burn it out of him.

Turning a dark eye on Louis, Yvonne stretches herself to her full five feet and adjusts her greying bun. It doesn’t ever need adjusting. She just does it to make everyone wait for what she’ll say next. Since she’s glaring at Louis while doing so, he senses that there are not exactly good things coming to him soon.

“ _Fouettés,_ ” Yvonne pronounces, turning a smug smirk on Louis. Yvonne _knows_ how much he hates _fouettés._ God, if it weren’t for the fact that Yvonne has made Louis an inestimably better dancer, he would hate her with every fibre of his being. “Tomlinson, since you seem full of energy today, you can lead with the soloists and then go with the corps as well.”

Fuck everything. _Fouettés_ and more _fouettés_ and only ten in the morning. Louis almost certainly did something to deserve this, but it’s impossible to ever really tell with Yvonne. The one blessing of all the fucking _fouettés_ is that Louis can’t worry about his contract while doing them at the same time. There are some combinations where Louis can think about his day or his shopping list at the same time. Anything involving _fouettés_ puts that right off the table. 

Once the interminable _fouetté_ sequence (and Louis’s penance) is over, the company moves on to doing floor combinations. _Embôité, embôité, chasse, chasse, arabesque…_ Louis has done this combination so many times that sometimes he actually thinks that he could do it in his sleep.

Normally, Louis does like to watch the other company members in their own turns across the floor. It’s good to see how other people are coming along, but Contract Day is absolutely not the day to discover that Ashton (fucking Ashton, why is he so tall?) is excelling. Instead, Louis looks around the room while the group after him takes their turn. Simon’s not in his customary chair by the pianist yet, and if he’s going to sit in on rehearsal, he’s always in the studio by combinations. Louis frowns just a bit as he realizes that his arse-enhancing tights have gone to waste. 

Instead, at some point, Harry From the Loo, as Louis is currently thinking of him, entered the room without Louis noticing and is now sitting in Simon’s chair to observe class. So he must be a recruit for a higher level than corps, then, Louis thinks to himself, making sure to smile a bit in Harry’s direction. Auditioning for just the corps doesn’t tend to give you the privilege of observing class before they throw you into the thick of it. Well, Harry seemed promising in the toilet, so as long as he’s not up for a principal role, Louis thinks he would quite like to have him in the company. Maybe this’ll work out. 

Zayn pokes Louis in the side, catching him completely off guard. “Hey. How are you feeling? Contracts and all.”

Louis pokes him back. “Don’t ruin my mood. And don’t get me caught talking, either, Yvonne’s already got it out for me today.”

As if on cue, Yvonne yells, “Tomlinson! If you are finding yourself _bored,_ do the combination again with this group!” Louis groans but scampers off quickly. Fucking typical. Zayn is always equally guilty, but escapes punishment due to Yvonne’s fondness for him and his cheekbones. Louis has perfectly nice cheekbones, but nothing like Zayn’s.

Louis tries to behave himself for the rest of class, only slapping Zayn’s rear twice and jumping obnoxiously high once--though he does send winks and smiles to Harry at every opportunity. By the end of rehearsal, Louis has a film of sweat covering his entire body, but he’s exhilarated enough to be able to forget that in the next few hours, he’ll receive the news that will determine the next major steps in his life. Naturally, just as Louis is feeling a degree of peace, Simon walks into the room and claps his hands.

“Sorry, everyone, I know that you all are anxious to get out of here and get into our meetings, but I have a major announcement to make,” Simon tells the company, clearly indicating that they all should remain where they are. Zayn turns to Louis with wide eyes that Louis returns. Are they all being fired? Has the company lost its funding?

“We’re making a last-minute change to our season, based on a ballet becoming available to us that previously wasn’t. I know you’ve all been very excited about _Cinderella,_ but I truly believe that performing this ballet is the opportunity of a lifetime for everyone, and the owner of the ballet has made it very clear that this season is our only opportunity to perform the ballet.” Louis is truly baffled now. What the hell is Simon on about? 

Simon smiles broadly. “Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow we will begin casting rehearsals for Matthew Bourne’s _Swan Lake_.”

Pandemonium instantly fills the room. Louis is perhaps frozen in shock. Matthew Bourne’s _Swan Lake_ , Jesus fuck. This is a _huge_ deal. Matthew Bourne is only the most famous contemporary ballet choreographer in the world, and he’s only ever let his own company perform the piece. Probably because it’s such a blend of ballet and modern dance that most companies wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

It’s not that, though, that’s turning Louis’s stomach into a bundle of knots. Bourne’s _Swan Lake_ infamously features two male leads. It’s still a romance between a prince and a swan, but in Bourne’s version, all of the swans are played by men. The roles in this ballet are the roles of a fucking lifetime--Simon’s not exaggerating--because they demonstrate a kind of versatility for the men that you really just don’t get being Prince Charming to the prima ballerina’s Cinderella.

Simon turning a shrewd smile on Louis and Zayn is also not exactly helping Louis’s stomach situation. “Matthew Bourne is far too busy to come stage the ballet for us, so let me take this opportunity to introduce Harry Styles, who will be staging this ballet. Harry danced in Bourne’s company for several years and has served as the resident director for several of the touring productions. I’m incredibly pleased to have him with us, and know that working with him will be a pleasure for all of us. Please give him a warm welcome, everyone.” Simon leads a round of applause as--oh, _fuck_ \--Harry From the Loo, who is apparently Choreographer Harry Styles, stands and gives a sheepish wave.

“Er, hi, everyone,” Harry says in a deep voice that Louis instantly imagines would be even sexier when it’s hoarse from sucking a cock. He kicks himself mentally. _Don’t fuck the choreographer. Don’t fuck the choreographer._ Maybe if he repeats it enough times it’ll sink in. “Like Mr. Cowell said, I’m Harry. I’m very excited to be working with you all. We’re starting casting rehearsals tomorrow, so I’ll be having you all dance in a few different positions per Mr. Cowell’s advice. I think this will be great fun for all of us, and I look forward to getting to know all of you.” Harry gives a brisk nod to Simon to signal that he’s finished.

“Brilliant, thank you, Harry. Now, everyone, as you know, we’re having contract meetings for the rest of the day. As always, starting with the corps and working my way up from there. Let me thank you in advance for your patience throughout the day--I know this is always long and painful for everyone, but I promise to try to make it as brief as possible. I had Cher post a list of appointment times on the call board, so feel free to run an errand or go see Niall if you have some extra time…” 

Louis tunes out the rest of Simon’s speech about timeliness and how appointments will work. He’s heard it all eight times before, once a year since he entered the company at eighteen. Instead he finishes packing up his bag, so that he’s ready to make a run for it as soon as Simon’s done talking. He wants to get to Niall first, since that fucker will surely have the inside scoop about what’s been going on around here.

When Louis hears Simon clap his hands twice, the traditional end to one of his speeches, he makes a beeline out the studio door and heads straight to the physical therapy room without pause. Louis pushes open the door and immediately flops on the large bench, whining, “Niall- _er_ , I need you!”

After a moment, Niall pokes his head out of his back office. “The fuck do you want, Tomlinson? Ready for those spinal strengthening exercises?”

Louis grimaces. “As if. I’m just here for info on the new choreographer person. You know I know you know all of the gossip around here.”

Niall narrows his eyes, becoming as menacing as he possibly can with his eternally sunny disposition, and Louis knows he’s in for it. “Harry, eh? I’ll tell you about it if you do the spine strengthening programme I taught you. And yes,” he says, cutting Louis off before his mouth is fully open, “I’m making you do the side plank, arsehole. That’s the deal. You exercise, I tell you what I know.”

“Well, who was it that gave you your information? And how much do you know?” Louis asks impatiently. “I’m not doing these exercises based off a drunk text from Cher in sales two weeks ago.”

“I got this information from Cher in sales when she was sober, thank you very much. The only drunk texts I get are from you, ya louse.”

After sticking out his tongue, Louis considers whether or not he thinks he can actually get out of doing these exercises. Niall knows that his meeting with Simon’s not going to be for at least two hours, and unfortunately he knows Louis well enough to know there’s no chance of him being able to eat before the meeting. “Horan, you drive a hard bargain. I’ll take it.”

A few minutes later, Louis is wondering why he thought this would be worth it. He fucking _hates_ spine strengthening exercises. Which, to be fair, is probably why he has so many problems with his back.

Well, that, and the fact that he spends hours every day lifting girls above his head. Whatever.

“Alright, Tommo, here’s what I’ve heard,” Niall finally begins once he has determined that Louis is actually doing the proper exercises. “Simon’s been after the rights for this _Swan Lake_ for fecking years now--it’s been a dream of his for ages. Thinks it’ll reinvigorate the ticket base by having something slightly scandalous.”

“Our Simon, always good at the marketing,” Louis agrees. He attempts to nod sagely and immediately regrets it. There’s just no way to look wise while holding a side plank.

“And bless him, I enjoy having a salary,” Niall says fervently. “So he’s been pestering this Matthew Bourne, and Bourne finally agreed but set all of these conditions with it. I guess Bourne has been grooming this Harry character for years to take over from him, and this is kind of Harry’s test as well as our company’s--if we succeed we might end up having Harry stage some other Bourne stuff for us, too.”

Louis flops on his back for a moment of rest. “So who’s making the final casting decisions? You know that’s all I really care about.”

“Oh, Harry, for sure. One of Bourne’s conditions. I know that’s not all you’re curious about though--and no, I haven’t heard anything definitive about his sexuality, but I _have_ heard he was checking out your arse in class this morning,” Niall smirks.

Jolting up to a sitting position, Louis preens a bit. “Really? He was?”

Niall swats at his head. “You fucking tosser, you’re the first person I’ve seen since class, how the bloody hell would I know? Still,” he amends, as Louis pulls away and rolls onto the left side plank before Niall can pester him further, “he probably was looking at your arse. Hard to miss, that.”

“Bugger off, Horan, you wish you had this arse,” Louis grunts out. “I’m finishing this exercise and then leaving, you’ve no use to me.”

Niall narrows his eyes again. “Like hell you are, Tomlinson. You’ve got thirty more minutes of these exercises before you’re going anywhere.”

\--

Louis emerges from the physical therapy room _twenty-seven_ minutes later, proving him as always superior to Niall, feeling begrudgingly more stretched and without the nervous energy that’s been driving him all morning. His back does feel better, he’ll admit.

The only problem is that without that nervous energy, he’s mostly left with a bone-deep exhaustion that he knows won’t be resolved before he meets with Simon. Louis can’t even eat before contract meetings, much less sleep, and he’s still got at least an hour to go.

After a quick shower and a change into what Louis privately thinks of as his Confidence Clothes (nice black trousers and a button-down to prove to Simon that he’s taking this seriously but that he’s not concerned enough to wear a full-on suit), he’s got nothing to do but wait around with the rest of the company. Spying Zayn with his eyes closed on what is definitely Their Sofa, Louis sits down on top of his legs. Zayn’s lack of reaction is immensely ungratifying.

He leans over Zayn’s body to perch directly above his ear. “Zaaaayn,” Louis whines in what he knows is his most irritating voice, “entertain me. We’re going to be here forever.”

Zayn gives Louis a look of supreme disdain and kicks a bit, before clearly resigning himself to Louis’s presence. “I’m sleeping, Lou. You should, too.” Louis stares at him indignantly, but Zayn’s eyes are already closed and he’s slipping into the even breath pattern that Louis knows means he actually is going to sleep. Fuck Zayn and his ability to sleep anytime, honestly. Louis waits a couple of moments to see if Zayn will humour him and wake up, but he is sadly disappointed. He’s going to tell Zayn that Niall’s his best friend now. Just as soon as contract meetings are over. He can’t subject Zayn to that kind of stress beforehand.

Bored and restless, Louis decides to wander the halls for a bit. Hopefully it’ll help him burn off some of the nerves--or at least maybe he’ll find someone to distract him. Unfortunately, once he’s done a lap of the building, pickings for people to talk to are slim at best. The corps members are already gone, either to cry or to celebrate, and the soloists are all too stressed to really want to talk.

Louis makes another lap past Simon’s office to see if he can tell who’s inside. It’s probably still a soloist, so there are probably at least four meetings before his. Fuck having a last name starting with T, _honestly._ Well, with this much time to prepare, he better have fabulous hair to match his confidence clothes. That’s an excellent delay tactic. Take a piss, then spend some time fucking around with his hair, and then hopefully it’ll be time for his contract.

He enters the loo quickly, a bit relieved at this point to find it empty. There aren’t too many dancers here that he considers truly good friends, and some of the other soloists resent Louis for his quick rise to the top. The moment before a contract meeting is absolutely not the time to be interacting with those people.

One can only spend so long can spend on hair that is freshly blow-dried and has very recently had product put in, much to Louis’s dismay. Just as he’s about to exit the toilet in hope that somehow Simon’s next five meetings have happened in the last ten minutes, the door opens cautiously.

It’s Harry. Again.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Louis offers a weak, “Fancy meeting you here.” He regrets it immediately. 

“Uh… yeah, fancy that,” Harry returns with a slight smile. It’s probably a pity smile, but Louis will take it.

They stand in awkward silence for another few seconds before Louis takes it upon himself to end the madness. “So. I obviously had no idea that you’re our new choreographer. And I didn’t want you to get, like, the wrong idea. I’m not trying to flirt my way into a role or anything. Just thought you were proper fit,” he tries to joke. It’s not a joke.

Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, I didn’t--I didn’t think that at all. Sorry I didn’t mention what I was here for when I met you this morning, I just, like, didn’t think I should, you know, steal Simon’s thunder or anything…”

“Makes sense,” Louis nods. “Bit hard to explain that you’re here to choreograph a show that none of the rest of us know we’re putting on.” 

Harry and Louis stare at each other again, but the silence is a bit less awkward this time. Neither makes a move for at least half a minute. Harry’s eyes are really rather green. They would be about this distance from each other if Harry was riding his dick.

 _Okay,_ time to leave and try to ignore that enticing train of thought. “Well,” Louis says with forced cheer, “better get going. Contract meeting, and all.”

Harry jumps a bit, as though he’d forgotten where he was. “Right! Yes! Good luck with that. I’m sure it’ll be good news.”

“Cheers, mate,” Louis grins. “And we’ll have to go for a drink sometime, yeah? With all the lads, so you can get to know everyone,” he adds perhaps a tad too quickly.

If Louis isn’t mistaken, Harry looks just a tad disappointed as he says, “Sounds brilliant, thanks. Yeah, just let me know.”

“Will do,” Louis promises. He’s already got one hand on the door. “See you around, Styles.”

Louis moves quickly back to the sitting area, thankfully finding Zayn awake this time. He’s clearly not in the mood to talk, though, and this close to the meeting Louis honestly isn’t either. They spend half an hour in companionable silence, dicking around on their phones.

Finally, _finally,_ it’s time for Louis’s meeting. Just a couple of minutes after the designated time, Simon opens his door and, after saying goodbye to demi-soloist Perrie, sees Louis and Zayn sitting on the couch. “Ah, good, saves some time. I’ll meet with you both at once.”

Louis and Zayn look at each other in confusion. Contract meetings are always, _always_ private. What is Simon up to? They shrug in unison and move towards the office, Zayn trailing behind Louis.

Louis and Zayn settle themselves on Simon’s famously uncomfortable guest chairs and look at him expectantly. “So, boss,” Louis says after a bit of a pause. “How’s it going?”

Simon laughs, and a bit of the tension dissolves. Louis still can’t quite get his shoulders to relax, though. “Oh, it’s been a long day, but I’m making it through. How about yourselves?”

“Fine, yeah,” Zayn murmurs. 

“A bit on edge, honestly,” Louis tells him candidly. He’d learned years ago that Simon always responds best when all cards are on the table.

Shifting back in his chair, Simon gives the boys a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry about that, lads. You know how it goes.” They don’t, actually, seeing as how they still have no idea why they’re having a joint meeting, but neither of them is feeling secure enough to point that out. “So the reason that you’re both in here,” Simon finally says, “is that, to put it simply, I don’t quite know what to do with you.” 

There is a long pause. Louis is pretty sure that he couldn’t speak if he tried. Are they being fired? Surely Simon wouldn’t fire them both at once.

Thank god, Simon must notice the look of sheer panic on both of their faces, since he says, “Oh god no, you’re not getting the sack. Sorry for the alarm.”

Louis collapses back into the chair a bit and audibly exhales. Beside him, Zayn has loosened his death grip on the arms of the chair. “So then--what do you mean?” Louis asks tentatively. He’s still not totally convinced that he wants to know the answer.

Simons sighs. “Well, you’re both brilliant dancers, obviously. You’re major assets to the company, and I’d love to keep you here as long as possible.”

“And I--and I’m sure Zayn--feel the same way,” Louis interjects. Zayn nods fervently beside him.

“Cheers, boys, glad to hear it. Here’s the thing,” Simon says and leans forward onto his desk. “Like I said, you’re brilliant dancers. But I’m not sure that you’re totally cut out to be principal dancers.”

Louis thinks that his heart has stopped. He’s spent literally his entire career battling this idea--that he was too twinky, too slight, not manly enough to be a principal dancer. So for the past ten years, Louis has been on a strict lifting regimen. He’s changed his hairstyle to get rid of the fringe. Louis has spent the last decade monitoring all of his movements and his speech inflections inside of the studio, making sure that nothing about him could be deemed too unmanly to dance the lead roles. He thought that Simon was on his side. After all, Simon has cast him in principal or principal-track roles for the last three years. 

Through the ringing in his ears, Louis realizes that Simon is trying to say something. The dreaded words “ _character artist_ ” are the only thing that he manages to process, but the threat of becoming a fucking character artist snaps him out this awful reverie. “Sorry, what?” Louis asks, shaking his head a bit.

Simon looks a bit sympathetic as he says, “You’re both so talented, and in pushing you to move through the ranks so quickly, I don’t feel like we’ve fully explored the possibility that you might be better suited to becoming character artists.”

Louis doesn’t know what to do. He’s spent so fucking long avoiding being classified as a _character artist_ , the typical fate of short flamboyant boys who don’t look like they can lift a girl over their heads. Louis was prepared for this day to come when he reached, say, thirty-five. He’s happy to be a character artist once he’s old enough not to want the lead roles anymore. But he’s not fucking there now. He can lift any goddamn ballerina you throw at him, and he can dance the lead roles as well if not better than anyone.

“So… what does this mean?” Zayn finally asks, after a very pregnant pause in which Louis might have turned into a monster with smoke spewing from his nostrils.

Looking more than mildly uncomfortable, Simon tells them, “It means that I haven’t decided what contract to offer you yet. I want to keep you both on as soloists until after _Swan Lake._ We’ll see how casting for that goes before I make a final decision.”

Louis’s head is spinning. Literally his entire world has turned upside down since he woke up this morning. _Swan Lake,_ which they weren’t even performing yesterday, is now apparently determining his entire fate in the ballet world. He doesn’t feel capable of putting together words.

“...so the casting rehearsals start tomorrow, lads, and Harry and I will jointly make decisions on where the two of you best fit. Based on that, we’ll figure out contracts for next season. Rest assured, you absolutely will have contracts here. Wouldn’t want to lose either one of you.” Simon leans back in his seat, seemingly pleased that he’s explained things satisfactorily.

Louis doesn’t trust himself to form words right now, so he lets Zayn say their goodbyes and restricts himself to shaking Simon’s hand and giving a tight smile. As soon as they’re out of the office, Louis takes a deep breath, but Zayn cuts him off before he can even say anything.

“Don’t. Not now. Not until we’re out of the studio,” Zayn says, placing a hand firmly over Louis’s mouth. Never has Louis been so glad to have such a coolheaded best mate. Even if said best mate now seems to be his main competition for becoming a principal dancer. Fucking Simon, playing games with people’s lives.

The halls of this studio have also never seemed so long. Louis vaguely notes that he and Zayn must look pretty crazy, for people to be staring at them in the way that they currently are. To be fair, Zayn is frog-marching Louis towards the door with a hand over his mouth. They probably deserve the stares.

Finally, _finally_ , they’re outside, and as soon as Zayn drops his hand from Louis’s mouth, he lets out a wordless scream. Then he does it again, because it felt good. Louis crushes some leaves into the pavement while he’s at it, just to feel the crunch. In the meantime, Zayn sits on a bench and puts his head in his hands.

Louis can stomp all he wants, but at the end of the day, there’s not really much to say. Zayn has clearly already realized this. Zayn has also always been much smarter than Louis. Sighing, Louis sits down beside Zayn and throws his arm across Zayn’s back.

“So,” Louis says after a moment of silence, “that was a bit shit.”

Zayn lets out a choked laugh. It sounds like he might be trying not to cry, and that is just unacceptable. _Nobody_ makes Zayn cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s all okay,” Louis croons, rubbing Zayn’s back soothingly. “Love, it’s all going to work out. You’ll be a principal dancer before you know it. Face like that, Simon’d be crazy not to want to put it on promotional materials, eh? He’s too smart not to promote you at the end of all this.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Zayn sits up, and after Louis shifts in response, he lays his head on Louis’s shoulder. “Let’s fucking hope so, mate. Really don’t fancy having to audition for other companies after all this time.”

And, god, Louis hadn’t even really considered that. If Simon doesn’t promote them, they’ll either have to take the contracts as character artists or audition at other companies for principal dancer. Scratch that, they’ll have to audition for principal- _track_ jobs, since neither of them is really proven enough to score a promotion by switching to another company. Not to mention that there are only four ballet companies worth dancing for in the whole of the UK, and that--god forbid--Zayn and Louis might not be at the same company. Louis’s throat is feeling suspiciously tight.

He tries to shake it off. “It’ll all work out. It has to.”

Zayn doesn’t have a response to that. They sit on the bench for another half hour, arms wrapped around each other, before feeling ready to get up and trudge to the tube. After all, Louis thinks to himself, they have to be well-rested tomorrow, to have yet another day that might determine the rest of their lives.

\--  
Louis isn’t proud of where he is.

And to think, only this morning, he had thought that he could be the future of ballet in England. Ha bloody ha. 

Instead, Louis is sprawled across his bed with a bottle of red wine that he’s been drinking straight from the bottle. He’s got his laptop next to him with his browser on the YouTube home page. Louis has entered the words “harry styles” into the search engine, but he hasn’t pressed enter yet.

 _This is a bad idea,_ he tries to tell himself sternly. _You should not search for your choreographer on YouTube to try to get a good view of his arse._ Louis throws a hand over his face and contemplates the many, many ways in which his day has gone wrong.

After a moment of silence for Louis’s failed Day of Triumph, he uncovers his eyes, takes a fortifying swig of wine, and types in a compromise: “harry styles matthew bourne swan lake”

That’s professional, right? Louis assures himself that it is as the results load.

And--well. Apparently Harry danced in one of the televised productions of Matthew Bourne’s _Swan Lake_ , because there are actually results. Upon reading the description, Louis confirms that Harry had been in the corps, and presumably also served as a dance captain of some sort. People who are getting principal roles regularly don’t usually become choreographers as young as Harry.

Louis is officially stalling. But this is, like, research, right? Right. He finally presses play, and watches as the corps of male swans runs onto the stage. Harry’s in the back, and, Christ, Louis forgot that the swans are all shirtless. That _torso_ , Jesus. Harry has abs. He should never wear a shirt again. Louis wants to lick his abs. Instead he takes another gulp of wine, watching Harry dance.

Harry can dance--like, of course he can, right, you don’t get in a Matthew Bourne production without being able to dance. He’s clearly not a principal-calibre dancer, but he’s got something else special to him, that Louis has seen only very rarely. Harry seems to just _get_ the music, feel it in a way and on a level that most dancers don’t. Tiny on-screen Harry is moving perfectly in time with the music, more in sync with it than with the other dancers on the stage, and it’s clear that’s what he’s paying more attention to. Probably means he’ll be quite a good--

Oh. And. There’s Harry’s bum. Tragically pixellated, but it is pert and in white tights and Louis would very much like to put his dick inside of it.

Fuck. _Fuck._ How is he going to get through the next week? How is Louis supposed to simultaneously worry about his contract and about the eminently lickable choreographer who has just arrived on the scene?

Louis finishes the bottle of wine and powers down his laptop at the end of the clip. This is just unfair. He’s going to sleep, and he is absolutely not going to think about Harry bloody Styles any more tonight. As a participant in Louis’s mental torture, Harry does not deserve any more thought. What he deserves is Louis _punishing_ him, fucking him like no one else--

Louis turns off the lamp beside his bed with more force than strictly necessary. This is going to be the worst week of his life, but by god, he is going to be well-rested for it.

\--

Of course, Louis doesn’t sleep well. How could he?

Louis can tell that Zayn didn’t sleep well, either. Zayn’s eyes don’t get the disgusting purple bags that Louis’s do--Zayn is far too much of a matinee idol for that--but he always curls in on himself even more when he hasn’t slept, and he’s far cuddlier, always nuzzling up against Louis at breaks. Louis should probably tell him at some point that his incessant physical affection with his gay best friend is probably not doing much to convince the pretty demi-soloist Zayn’s been eyeing that they’re not in a relationship. 

Today is not that day, because frankly Louis needs the comfort at least as much as Zayn does. Harry Styles is wearing tights today, and Louis can see the massive bulge that his dance belt is struggling to hold in, as well as his delectable little bum. It is a massive pity that Louis absolutely cannot fuck the choreographer who is going to determine his future, and he needs to be comforted.

Well, that’s not the only reason that Louis needs to be comforted. There’s also, like, rehearsal. Which is not fun.

Louis and Zayn have evidently been paired together for this ballet, as the two male leads--the prince, and the male swan that the prince falls in love with. Brilliant. Louis loves Zayn. He’s excited to dance with him.

Except--except that Harry’s having them both learn both the Prince and the Swan. Except that the Swan is clearly a part for a character artist, while the Prince is a part for a principal dancer. So whichever way this goes, either Louis or Zayn will be getting completely screwed over.

And the other thing that really fucking _sucks_ , Louis thinks as he tries to _jeté_ like a swan, is that, character artist label aside, the Swan’s character is amazing. Like, if he didn’t have a contract riding on this, he would absolutely want to play the Swan. The Prince is at least ten times less cool. Fundamentally, the Swan is what makes Matthew Bourne’s _Swan Lake_ different from the traditional _Swan Lake._

But he does have a contract riding on this, and more than anything, Simon’s perception of what kind of a dancer he is. So even though Louis is loving, _loving_ getting to incorporate the more modern-dance movements into the Swan’s dance, he’s trying hard to focus more on the Prince. 

_Principal dancer. Principal dancer. Principal dancer._ Maybe if he says it enough times, it’ll come true.

“Louis!” Harry calls, startling Louis into landing with his feet turned in. _Nice one, Tommo._ “Can you go back to the _crosée derriere_? With the arms crossed over your head?”

Louis thinks for a second, then moves back to the pose. It’s the first time that the swans hold still for the audience to see, so Louis knows how important it is to get right. His body language in this pose has to tell the audience how to think of the Swan: graceful, but fierce; capable of great beauty, but also of great danger.

Harry circles closer, and Jesus, those tights really are going to kill Louis. Is it necessary for Harry to have such fucking beautiful legs? Who decided that? Was Louis a child-murderer in a past life? Louis shakes his head the tiniest bit, realizing that Harry is staring at him. 

“You’re so close,” Harry murmurs, “but not quite--can I?” He gestures, and after a moment, Louis realizes that Harry’s asking if he can touch Louis to adjust the post. Louis has never seen a choreographer ask before just moving his body about. Harry’s rather polite. Louis quite likes that, so he nods assent. Louis has loads of self-control and he absolutely is not having to talk himself out of deliberately moving so that Harry ends up touching his cock. Absolutely not.

Placing a hand on Louis’s chest, Harry says, “You don’t actually have to _be_ taller than the other swans--”

“Well, thank god,” Louis mutters mutinously.

“--but you have to carry yourself as though you are,” he finishes, eyes flashing with what Louis dearly hopes is mirth. Harry pushes Louis’s chest farther up. “You need to have your chest _there_ the whole time. Always that exposed, that proud.”

Louis is trying very hard to concentrate on what Harry is saying, but he got caught somewhere in the combination of Harry saying the word _exposed_ and Harry having his absolutely gigantic, warm hand placed on Louis’s chest. It’s making it a bit difficult, since somehow Louis is also having to focus on telling himself not to get hard. Louis clears his throat. “And the arms?” he asks, purely for distraction.

Harry’s hand then grazes over Louis’s wrist, so, okay, that might not have been the best strategy to encourage focus. “Your arms are very good, actually.” Louis tries not to be offended by the undercurrent of surprise. “You’re doing very well at getting the angles. You can rest for a moment. Now, Zayn,” he says, moving over to where Zayn-as-the-Prince has been standing. Louis can finally exhale once Harry is no longer touching him. Jesus, this is going to be rough.

If he were a better dancer, Louis would be carefully listening to what Harry is telling Zayn, so that he comes to understand the role of the Prince better. But fuck everything, Louis is exhausted, Harry is stupidly pretty, and the Prince is basically standing around in this scene, anyway, being awed by the Swan’s beauty. Louis laughs to himself a little. Interesting change for Zayn, being awed by anyone else’s beauty. 

Louis can feel himself drifting more and more as the rehearsal comes to a close, and weirdly, he thinks that it’s actually helping him to be the Swan for the day. His exhaustion is giving Louis’s movements a sort of languid quality that they don’t usually have, which is useful for these opening scenes. Not quite so useful for convincing Harry that he should be dancing the Prince.

Fuck it. By the time that rehearsal is finally over, Louis can’t bring himself to care anymore. He’ll put more effort into being princely tomorrow, when he and Zayn actually switch roles. Louis trudges slowly over to his bag at the front of the studio and plops down on the floor to pull off his shoes and get himself situated for the tube ride home. He’s zoning out a bit, finding comfort in the routine of it all.

“Did you know that adult swans have over ten thousand feathers?” 

Louis visibly starts. He looks up to find Harry looming over him, wearing a somewhat nervous smile. “Er. No?”

Harry seems to take Louis’s response as an invitation to sit down. He settles himself carefully on the floor, taking a position where he can maintain eye contact with Louis. “They do. Over ten thousand. And on such little creatures.”

Louis is too tired and possibly not intelligent enough for this conversation. “Mmm, quite,” he says finally, and hopes that’s an adequate response.

“I just… I obviously don’t know how you get into character, but for me personally, when I was dancing as a swan in the corps, I found it helpful to think about the physicality of the swan. Like, we don’t think of swans as very large, but they’re actually some of the largest birds that can fly,” Harry tells him, still sounding hesitant. 

Actually, this is quite interesting. One of the things that Louis likes best about ballet is figuring out how each character he dances should move--not the big movements set by the choreographer, obviously, but little things, like how to move his fingertips. Louis smiles at Harry and sits up a little straighter, silently encouraging him to go on.

“So,” Harry finishes more confidently, “thinking about the combination of those things, that swans are large for being able to fly and the weight of ten thousand feathers had a really large effect on how I danced as a swan.”

“It’s the contrast, then--kind of a tension within all of their movements?” Louis asks.

Harry’s eyes light up. “Yes!” he exclaims.

Louis smiles at him. Harry’s really quite endearing, especially when he’s excited about something. “That is very helpful information, Styles. Anything else I should know about how swans move?”

“Well, the other thing that I personally found important to know is that swans are one of very few species of birds that have penises. They have explosive erections,” Harry tells Louis without any hint of laughter on his face.

Louis doesn’t know what’s going on. This had been a proper workplace conversation just a moment before. “Sorry, what?” he finally asks, after sitting in stunned silence for a moment. “What the fuck is an explosive erection?”

Perhaps realising how incredibly odd the phrase is, Harry’s entire face breaks into a blush that is rapidly spreading to engulf his neck as well. “Oh god, that came out all wrong. I’m so sorry. I just--for the romance with the Swan and the Prince, you know--I thought that it was helpful to know, but I said that about as horribly as I possibly could.” 

He drops his head into his hands. Louis, after taking a moment to fully process what just happened, breaks into uncontrollable laughter.

Harry pulls his head back up and looks at Louis’s hysteria. “Heeeey,” he pouts, “I do think it’s important. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry, love, but this deserves to be laughed at,” Louis manages to get out through continued giggles. “Explosive erection, _honestly._ ”

Impressively, Harry manages to hold the pout for at least ten seconds before he joins Louis in laughing. Every time that a wave of laughter starts to fall, they look at each other and start again. Louis is definitely letting out his least attractive cackle at this point, but he can’t be arsed to get himself together. Harry’s a mess as well, curling up into a ball on the floor while he laughs into his hand.

Finally the laughter slows and Louis takes a few deep breaths to make sure that he’s not going to sink back into it. Once he’s sure that he’s got himself back under control, he turns to Harry and watches as Harry gets out his own last few giggles. Harry straightens back up to a sitting position and sighs heavily.

Louis clears his throat. “Are you really going to make me go home and google explosive erection, then? I’m dying of curiosity here, Styles.”

Harry snorts a little, but manages to keep from full-on laughing. “No, it’s a real thing! Their penises, like, they look kind of like corkscrews? But retractable? Like, they stay coiled up inside the swan until they’re ready to blow the load?”

It has never taken more willpower for Louis to maintain a straight face. “So… this is going to help me in dancing the Swan.”

“Yes!” Harry insists. “Because the Swan has a penis, there’s a psychological level to the romance with the Prince that there wouldn’t be if it was a female swan. That penis puts him on the same sexual level as the Prince, putting his own sexual agency into the romance. They experience attraction in similar ways!”

“Oh, I think I do get it,” Louis says, trying as hard as he can to take this seriously. “So it’s in the sexual dimension, in the idea that there actually is a penis to penetrate the Prince.” Harry nods, pleased that Louis has finally understood where he’s coming from. “Well, this is all very interesting, Harold, but what I’m mostly getting is that I’ve known you less than 48 hours and we’ve already had an in-depth discussion of explosive penises.”

“Explosive _erections_ ,” Harry corrects him with a completely straight face.

They both last five full seconds before dissolving into giggles again. “Penis jokes are my favourite,” Harry manages to choke out, only making Louis laugh harder. They’re his favourite as well, if he’s being honest.

“Why do you know so much about swans, anyway?” Louis gasps through the laughter.

“I don’t know, really,” Harry muses as his laughter slows. “I guess I just find birds interesting? I know things about lots of different kinds of birds. I picked it up here and there, you know?”

Feeling bold, Louis gives a saucy wink and says, “Interested in birds, then? Any birds around the studio to your liking so far?”

Harry looks puzzled for a moment, then blushes once he’s caught Louis’s meaning. “Er. I--no. I think I’m, uh, more of a swan guy? Than birds? At least two-legged ones.”

Louis grins. “Fair enough. Same here, for what it’s worth.”

They share a companionable silence for a few seconds, while Louis does a couple of cartwheels in his head about Harry’s roundabout coming out. Louis looks up at the clock on the studio wall and groans.

“Well, I’d best go,” he says, pushing up off of the ground. “Missed my usual train already. Here, want a hand?” Louis holds out a palm to Harry and helps pull him up to his feet. They stand awkwardly close together for a second once Harry’s no longer sitting, before Louis breaks away. No sexual tension with Harry until casting is done and no one can accuse Louis of inappropriate behaviour.

Louis smiles. “Thanks for a good first day of rehearsals, Styles. Have a good night.” He waves at Harry and swiftly exits the studio, proud of himself for being a true professional. Even if now he knows that Harry is attracted to men and enjoys penis jokes. Louis isn’t perfect.

\--

The post-rehearsal swan factoids bonding session seems to have cemented a kind of friendship between Harry and Louis. 

At the first break, Harry comes over to Louis at a speed that suggests he’s meandering but a direction that suggests he’s walking with a purpose. Louis senses that Harry’s a bit nervous still, since he starts right off with another swan fact. “Did you know that swans often mate for life? Sometimes even before puberty?”

“No, young Harold, I did not,” Louis says, amused by Harry’s commitment to the idea that these are all to help Louis. “So the Swan’s love for the Prince is a very real and permanent thing?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry mutters. Louis doesn’t want Harry to think that he has to supply more swan facts every time that they speak. How many things are there to know about swans, even?

“So did you already have a flat in London? Or have you been mostly doing the gypsy thing, living on the road and out of a suitcase?” Louis asks him.

Harry lights up at the attention, and Louis has to fight to keep the acceptable interested smile on his face from turning into an endeared face-splitting grin. Harry Styles is nicer than he has any right to be, but Louis is succeeding at convincing him that they are really friends and that Louis doesn’t just want him for his swan facts. He even manages to drag Zayn into the conversation, which always counts as a win.

The rest of rehearsal pretty much proceeds in much the same way. Every time that there’s a break, Harry makes sure to come and find Louis, even if they only talk long enough to exchange thoughts on whether purple tights should be acceptable in rehearsal (absolutely, yes, Harry has no taste whatsoever) or which nearby pub is the best. Once or twice Louis has even spotted Harry full-on ignore other people trying to get his attention in his haste to get over to Louis.

It absolutely does not make Louis feel a sort of warm glow within his chest. That would be unprofessional. Louis is not the type to have an inappropriate relationship with a choreographer.

At least not before casting. Two more days. And this could just be a friendly glow. Yes, Harry is quite attractive, but Louis is capable of being friends with highly attractive people. Hell, he’s maintained a friendship with Zayn for years, and Zayn is practically a Greek god.

Louis chooses to conveniently ignore the fact that he is also not highly attracted to Zayn. And that Zayn is straight. Whatever.

Anyway, it’s a friendly glow. Louis and Harry are becoming friends, and that is excellent. Zayn and Niall are ace, but Louis could do with more friends. 

At the end of rehearsal, Harry comes over once more while Louis is gathering his things. This time, though, he runs a hand across Louis’s back and tells him, “Your work today was brilliant, Louis. I feel lucky to be working with you.”

It probably should have worried Louis more than it did that the line Harry had traced down his spine feels warm for the entire tube ride home.

It also probably should have worried him more that, upon arriving home and settling in for a wank, he finds his thoughts drifting to curly hair pulled back with a scarf, to muscular thighs and curved calves, to a small pert bum in black tights.

But Louis is an idiot, and so he doesn’t feel any real concern until he comes to the thought of Harry moaning his name, rather than just whispering it quietly.

That’s when he knows he’s fucked.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! sorry this is a day late, but it is here in honor of the lovely [lila's](http://ratchetlila.tumblr.com/) birthday, which is today! lila, you are a superstar. thanks for accepting this as a birthday present instead of a new fic even though you beta'd for it. everyone go say happy birthday to lila!
> 
> as ever, i own nothing. hope you enjoy! part 3 up on thursday, i promise this time!

“It’s a triple pirouette, Tomlinson! Not a double! Is this amateur hour?”

Louis groans and ducks his head in shame, trying to escape Yvonne’s face that is part concern and part sheer rage. He hasn’t slept well since the night before Contract Day. Dream-Crushing Day was Monday, and it’s now Friday morning, so Louis feels that his inability to count is perhaps just a bit understandable. It can all be put down to a lack of sleep.

Well. A lack of sleep, three days of interminable rehearsals in large part proving that Louis is about to become a motherfucking character artist, and the fact that his best friend is feeling a considerable amount of guilt about the whole situation. Plus the casting list is going to be posted today, which is just great all around.

And nothing to do with Harry Styles or Louis’s sexual frustration. Absolutely not.

“Sorry, Yvonne,” Louis chokes out, inexplicably close to tears. “D’you want me to go again with the next group, then?”

Yvonne approaches, and Louis instinctively moves back a step. Instead of the swat he was expecting, Yvonne gently lifts Louis’s chin a little, forcing him to look directly into her sympathetic gaze. As much as Louis irritates the shit out of Yvonne, he’s never doubted that she always wants the best for him. Also, as the ballet mistress, Yvonne knows exactly what has been throwing Louis off his game in class. At least as far as the professional part of that goes. Louis dearly hopes that she doesn’t know about how much he wants to fuck Harry.

“Bah!” Yvonne tells Louis, somehow managing to sound both fond and fed up. “I know you can do a triple. And I don’t want your lack of concentration interfering with my other dancers. Don’t go again.”

Louis trudges over to the side of the room where Zayn is waiting for him. Zayn gives Louis a look of soulful concern as he approaches but refrains from speaking. He slings an arm over Louis’s shoulder instead, which Louis shrugs off. 

“Are you _trying_ to imply that we’re in a relationship?” Louis whispers in response to Zayn’s hurt eyes. “Because you are doing an ace job of it, if so. Perrie asked Jade the other day how long we’ve been dating.”

As Louis suspected, Zayn is alarmed as soon as Louis mentions Perrie’s name. Ha. Sometimes he thinks he knows Zayn better than he knows himself. “What did Jade tell her?”

Louis smirks, moving towards his bag to grab his water bottle. “That we were coming up on our third anniversary.”

Zayn’s eyes are even wider now, and his hands are flapping. This is excellent. Louis hasn’t gotten Zayn into a full-on strop in _ages._ “Why would she--but Jade _knows_ that we--”

There’s only so long that Louis can keep the laughter in, and the second that a snort escapes, Zayn smacks his arse. Rather hard, actually. Louis would be perturbed if he didn’t absolutely deserve it. “What the _fuck_ , Louis. Jade didn’t actually say that, did she? Did Perrie even ask about us?”

“Perrie didn’t ask how long we’ve been dating,” Louis admits, “but she did ask Jade if something was going on between us. Jade told her that she was pretty sure you were straight, but if you would like for Perrie to be convinced of that, perhaps stop touching my arse so often, yeah? I know it’s glorious, but it’s not getting you anywhere.”

Yvonne clears her throat at the front of the room. Louis and Zayn are conspicuously missing from their formation. Fuck this entire day, honestly. They run over, but the damage has been done. “Stay after class, both of you,” Yvonne hisses as Louis tries to hit the arabesque without having gotten the preparation step.

There’s only a few more groups before the end of the class. Zayn and Louis slink shamefully to the front of the room with their bags to wait for Yvonne’s pronouncement. She draws it out a bit, praising a corps member and pointedly telling Perrie that she’d been “quite focused today, dear.” Zayn winces a bit.

Only when the room finally clears does Yvonne deign to acknowledge their presence. She walks over carefully and precisely, and proceeds to dig her fingernails into Louis’s left arm and Zayn’s right.

“Ow!” Louis protests, to no avail.

“What do you think you’re playing at, boys?” Yvonne asks them. “Do you know how much is on the line for you this week? This should be the time when you’re putting forth your best effort, not playing around and acting like you’re still eighteen and fresh out of school. Did you think about what might have happened if Mr. Cowell had been in here and seen your antics? Neither of you were leading the company like principal dancers today, let me tell you.”

Louis honestly hadn’t thought of that. Simon hasn’t come to daily class since his announcement of Swan Lake--since he’s been sitting in on casting rehearsals, he’s been using class time to get caught up on paperwork. But Yvonne is absolutely right. He hangs his head in shame a bit.

“Now,” Yvonne continues. “It is time to start acting like professionals again. No matter what the cast list says this afternoon, and no matter what your contracts say later. You need to think about how your behaviour is being perceived by others around you. I could go to Simon right now and tell him that neither of you is professional enough to be a principal dancer. I won’t,” she adds before they can panic too much, “but only because I do not believe that this situation is fair to anyone. Are you prepared to change your behaviour?”

Zayn and Louis nod ashamedly. Sometimes Yvonne feels more like Louis’s mum than like his ostensible boss. She’s about the same age, and her demeanour when Louis has fucked up is all too similar.

“Chins up, boys,” Yvonne says cheerfully. “Casting’s going up today, and absolutely everyone in the company is going to be watching to see how you react.”

The hell of it is, she’s absolutely right. There are no secrets in a ballet company. “Cheers, Yvonne,” Louis says weakly. “We’ll do better.” Zayn fervently nods beside him.

“You’d better. I haven’t invested the better part of a decade in you clowns only to see you mess it all up now.” Yvonne breaks the harshness with a bit of a smile and walks out of the studio, leaving them to it.

As is true after many of his encounters with Yvonne, Louis somehow feels both better and worse at the same time. He looks over at Zayn, who seems to be stuck in a bit of a stupor. “Any chance you’re going to be able to be able to eat before casting goes up?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Louis sighs. “Me either, sadly. Want to go for some tea instead of lunch, then?”

Zayn links his arm through Louis’s as they leave the studio, and for once, Louis can’t be arsed to remind him about Perrie. Once the cast list goes up, they’re unlikely to find much comfort in each other anyway. Might as well take it for a bit now.

\--

THE PRINCE: ZAYN MALIK  
THE SWAN/THE STRANGER: LOUIS TOMLINSON  
THE QUEEN: LESLIE PARKER  
THE PRIVATE SECRETARY: MATT EVANS  
THE GIRLFRIEND: PERRIE EDWARDS

Louis doesn’t bother to continue reading the names of the ensemble--these are the only characters that really matter, anyway. Just as expected, Simon and Harry have put Leslie and Matt in as the Queen and the Private Secretary. They’re some of the oldest dancers in the company (meaning they’re pushing forty; dancing’s a short and brutish career) and have successfully transitioned from principal roles to character artists. It must be hardest for Leslie, Louis thinks dispassionately. To go from being the romantic lead to playing the romantic lead’s mother.

Aging is a bitch.

And it is very possible that Louis is avoiding thinking about his own casting. 

It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it. The whole week, Louis has been absolutely smashing it as the Swan, and has been somewhat less exemplary as the Prince. Zayn, on the other hand, has embodied a princely spirit from day one, and mostly looked uncomfortable when trying to be the Swan. 

So, like, Louis knows they got the casting right. If he’d been casting the show, he probably would have done the same. Perrie will be great as the trashy girlfriend who the Prince starts out with, and it’s a real coup for her. Leslie and Matt will excel in their roles as well. Zayn is the perfect Prince, and when it comes down to it, Louis will be a great Swan. He loves dancing the Swan. This is the role of a lifetime.

But it’s also the letdown of his career, a confirmation that at the end of the run he can expect a character artist’s contract.

Before turning away from the notice board, though, Louis makes sure to paste on a decently convincing smile. Like Yvonne said, chin up. Everyone is always watching in a ballet company. He pushes back through the crowd around the board and gives Zayn a friendly (it _is_ , dammit) punch on the arm.

“Congratulations, Zayno!” Louis says with perhaps a bit too much exuberance. “Knew you’d end up with the Prince. Excited to spend the next six weeks swooning over my beauty?” Louis waggles his eyebrows with enough playful energy that Zayn relaxes a little.

“It’ll be the greatest test of my acting ability yet,” Zayn returns with a smirk. “No, but really,” he says, lowering his voice, “didja see that Perrie’s the Girlfriend? How great is that?”

“Perfect,” Louis smiles. “It is absolutely perfect. Listen, mate, I really am happy for you, and this will be loads of fun for both of us. I’ve desperately got to piss now, but let’s grab Niall and go out tonight, yeah? We’ve earned it, after the week we’ve put in.”

Zayn nods agreement, and Louis takes the opportunity to slip away before any of the other company members try to engage him in conversation. He graciously accepts a few congratulations and makes sure to say the same to Perrie, but he’s really focused on getting the hell out of the notice area so that he can have a bit of a breakdown in private.

Louis makes a beeline for his haven of a toilet (and how sad is that, he probably needs to evaluate some of his life choices), not precisely avoiding eye contact but certainly not seeking it out. Once there, he closes the entry door in relief and leans heavily on the sink.

It’s not that he had expected a miracle, it’s just that he had expected Harry to read his mind and see his promise and understand that Louis deserves to be a principal dancer. So maybe he’d expected a miracle. Louis wipes harshly at a few traitorous tears. Fuck it, he deserves to cry a little. He’s only just seen the last ten years of his life go down the drain.

And just when he’s not wanted, once again, Harry _fucking_ Styles waltzes into Louis’s toilet like it’s somewhere he’s got any right to be. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this!” Harry jokes.

Louis smiles weakly into the mirror and then drops his head again without responding.

Harry doesn’t seem to have picked up on his mood. “Congratulations on the Swan!” he exclaims, giving Louis the most sincere grin, and it just--well.

Louis starts sobbing. It’s not his proudest moment. After a brief, stunned silence from Harry, Louis feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Er. Louis? Is--is everything alright?” Harry asks tentatively. “It’s just--I didn’t--are you not happy with the Swan? It seemed like you really enjoyed dancing him this week, and Louis, you’re going to be fabulous in the role--”

Harry’s kind words aren’t helping. Louis cries a little harder, then pulls himself together enough to say, “It’s not the Swan. I do quite like the Swan.”

“Then--your family? Or Zayn? Will this put a strain on the two of you?”

“I hope not,” Louis chokes out. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and the tears slow enough for him to be able to talk more intelligibly. “No, it’s not family, or Zayn. I think that we’ll be fine. It’s just, like. My contract. You know. But I understand, and I really am excited about dancing the Swan. I completely appreciate why you made the decision that you did. I just haven’t quite finished processing it, so I’m sorry my reaction was so unprofessional. I promise that I will have a very good attitude about the casting.”

They stand in silence for a minute, before Harry finally asks, “What about your contract?”

And oh, shit. Harry hadn’t even known. Well. That both makes Louis feel better that at least Harry didn’t screw him over on purpose and makes him feel worse that Simon hadn’t even told Harry what the ramifications of casting would be. He realises suddenly that Harry is still waiting on him for an answer.

“Er. Well. Simon didn’t give either me or Zayn contracts on Contract Day. He told us that he didn’t necessarily think we were both meant to be principal dancers, so he was going to wait on contracts until after casting for _Swan Lake_. And it was strongly implied that whoever got the Swan was going to be given a character artist contract, rather than principal dancer.”

Louis had been talking to his hands, but after he finishes speaking he dares to look up in the mirror to see Harry’s face behind him. He almost wishes that he hadn’t. It’s quite scary--Harry looks proper furious. So clearly Simon told him absolutely nothing. Whoops. Harry also looks very odd angry, like his face just isn’t meant to make those expressions. A bit like seeing an angry kitten.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me that,” Harry mutters. Then, a bit louder, he pleads, “Louis, you have to believe, I didn’t have any idea there were contracts riding on this. I just--you’re absolutely brilliant as the Swan. I just thought that Simon wanted to let me have final decision on casting.”

Louis finally loosens his grip on the sink and turns to face Harry. They’re a bit close now that they’re facing the same direction. Almost like they’re ready to kiss. _Focus, Tommo._ “Haz, I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s fine. Simon likes to play games with people sometimes. Hell, he’s probably right. Don’t know how much of a principal dancer I’d make, anyway. I’ve always been told I’m a bit too twinky to make it big,” he tries to joke weakly.

“That’s not fair. And it’s not true,” Harry says petulantly.

Losing his patience a bit, Louis tells him, “Well, it’s the way it is. I know you didn’t mean to do it. Now, I’ve shed all of the tears that I want to over this. I’ve got a brilliant part in an English National Ballet production. It’s time to celebrate. I’m going out with Niall and Zayn tonight--want to come along?”

Harry hesitates a bit, but the smile creeping across his face gives him away. “You don’t think--would people get the wrong idea? That, like, you were only taking me out because I gave you the leads? Because you have to?”

“Is that what you think?” Louis asks, genuinely horrified. “No, you’re coming along because you’re a lovely person who just comforted a crazy washed-up dancer in a toilet. That deserves a medal of honour, but we’ll start with drinks.”

The smile turns into a full-on grin. “Okay, then, thanks. I’ll be happy to come. But Louis?”

“Yes, Styles?”

Harry leans in, just enough to make Louis powerfully aware of how Harry is just a few inches taller than him and that his hair smells like fresh fruits. Louis has never cared less about being a principal dancer in his life.

“No more calling yourself washed-up.”

With a wink, Harry exits the toilet, without ever having actually performed any of the functions that one typically expects (does he just come into the toilet hoping to find Louis?), and Louis is forced to lean back on the sink for support.

If this continues, Louis might just become the first person to ever actually die from sexual frustration. Harry Styles is trying to kill him.

\--

Upon opening the door to his flat, Niall promptly greets Louis with, “Wa-hey, Tommo! Looking like a proper slag tonight! Are you trying to get laid?” 

Of course, Harry is already inside. And clearly heard Niall, judging by the smirk on his face. Fuck everything.

Louis moves inside with as much dignity as a person holding a full bottle of flavoured vodka can, saying primly, “I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to, Mr. Horan.”

He does, of course. Louis doesn’t have on a white shirt scooped low enough to show his collarbones for nothing. Not to mention the fact that his jeans are tight enough that he had to lay down on the bed to get them on. And that he might have deliberately chosen his shirt thinking of how it would turn sheer and cling to his abs a bit once he’s been dancing a while. Look, if Louis has to devote literally all of his waking hours during the week to the maintenance of his physique, he is sure as fuck going to show it off on a Friday night. And _not_ for Harry Styles, thank you very much.

“Also, do you actually know Harry? I forgot to ask before I invited him to your flat, sorry, mate,” Louis realizes upon moving over to where Harry sits at Niall’s dining table and plopping down the vodka like a challenge.

“You’re the worst person I know,” Niall informs him gravely. “But luckily for you, yes, I know and love Harry. In fact, he’s my favourite person in the room.”

“Oi!” shouts Zayn from the couch. 

“I am deeply offended,” Louis tells Niall. “I thought our years of friendship meant something to you.”

Niall just laughs. “Well, Harry, unlike the rest of you idiots, actually comes to see me and willingly does his physical therapy exercises. Unlike some people in this room, he trusts and respects my expertise.” Niall has definitely puffed up his chest while describing his expertise. 

Louis and Zayn shoot betrayed looks at Harry. “When do you even have time to go see Niall?” Louis asks. “Aren’t you always either rehearsing us or in with Simon?”

Harry blushes a little and looks down at his feet. “Er, I come in a bit early in the morning to meet with Simon, so I’m usually able to go work with Niall while the rest of you are in daily class. That way I know I’m not taking his time from the dancers he’s really supposed to be focusing on, you know?”

Louis stares at him in awe. Harry Styles might be the most perfect human being in existence. He’s also wearing black trousers that look like they might be jeggings and a semi-sheer shirt. Louis is not going to make it through the night without an uncomfortably timed erection, he can feel it now.

“And I have a bit of a bad back!” Harry adds quickly, as though he needs an excuse to be a responsible human being.

Snorting, Niall informs Harry, “So do these twats. Doesn’t mean they actually show up to do their exercises.”

“Some of us are very busy professional dancers,” Louis says haughtily, moving over to sit on the sofa with Zayn, who Louis knows for a fact does his back exercises even less often than Louis. “Ah, Zayn! You broke out the leather jacket, mate! And look at that hair. Plans to pull?” Louis makes cooing noises as he tries to touch Zayn’s quiff, but Zayn is quick to beat him away.

“I know all your tricks, Tommo,” Zayn growls, “and I am absolutely not seeing Perrie looking like a prat. You always fuck up my hair.”

Harry and Niall are both sitting at the dining table, with distinctly different reactions. Niall is laughing at Zayn and Louis’s antics, while Harry looks like he’s still a bit uncomfortable. Well. No time for that.

“It’s already eleven, lads, are we doing pre-drinks or not?” Louis asks and moves over towards Niall and Harry, brandishing his bottle of vodka. “Shots all around?”

Niall scoffs. “Like it’s a question. Shots are required, everyone. No protests, Zayn,” he says before Zayn can even think to do so, “you’ll need a couple of shots to loosen you up enough to actually talk to Perrie.”

“So are we meeting up with other people from the company, then?” Harry asks Louis quietly, still sounding a bit tentative. “Do you think it’s like--alright for me to be there? They won’t feel uncomfortable about having the choreographer around?”

Louis takes two shot glasses from Niall and hands one firmly to Harry. “You’re coming, no getting out of it now. And no one from the company will mind that you’re there, trust me. It’s not like a formal thing, we just all tend to turn up at the same club. Everyone likes you, and if they don’t, they’ll be too plastered to make a scene about it. Don’t worry.”

Harry smiles, finally seeming to relax a bit. This insecurity is hopelessly endearing, and it’s concerning Louis a bit. He wasn’t anticipating _feelings_ when it came to Harry. Well, feelings other than constant, uncomfortable arousal. Harry needs to stop being so fucking cute all of the time, and Jesus, Louis needs alcohol immediately.

He looks around, confirming that Niall has pulled Zayn over and forced a shot on him, and then cries, “Shots, lads! To Harry joining us--tonight and for the next six weeks!”

“To Harry!” Niall and Zayn cry obligingly, and all four down their shots. A blush is spreading rapidly across Harry’s face, but since he’s also grinning from ear to ear, Louis suspects that he’s more pleased than embarrassed.

“Now that we’ve accepted you into our clique, Harry--” Louis begins, before Zayn rudely cuts him off.

“This is _not a clique_ ,” he groans. “It’s just that we’re not friends with anyone else.”

“AIN’T NOBODY FRESHER THAN MY CLIQUE!” Niall vociferously disagrees, and pulls Zayn into a headlock that he can’t seem to escape. Louis loves Niall quite a lot.

“Yes, as I was saying, now that you’re in our clique, it’s time for us to ask the important things. The soul-baring questions. We have to know all about you, Hazza.”

Harry looks dubious. “Like what?”

“All of your secrets,” Louis whispers. “Like… what footie team do you support?”

After a brief pause, Harry laughs and says, “United, of course. What do you take me for? I’m from Cheshire.”

Louis ruffles his hair. “The correct choice! You can stay.” Cheshire. Interesting. Harry does seem a bit posh, so that makes sense, Louis supposes.

Niall is distracted enough to drop Zayn from the headlock, telling Harry, “That’s an acceptable choice, but not the _correct_ one. The only correct answer is Derby.”

Zayn groans again and pours himself another shot. They all ignore him, other than Louis holding out his glass to receive a refill as well. Zayn begrudgingly obliges as the footie conversation carries on without him.

“Derby?” Harry asks incredulously. “Really? Would we even call that a team?” Louis holds up his palm for a high-five, which Harry slowly reaches for. It turns into a bit more of a hand-clasp than a proper high-five. It’s time to take that second shot. Louis does so quickly.

“Oi, save some for the rest of us!” Niall protests. 

Louis just waggles his eyebrows and says, “It’s on, Horan. You might be the stronger man when it comes to Guinness, but I can take you on vodka shots any day.”

Once more, Zayn groans. “I have the dumbest friends in the world,” he informs Harry, who looks caught between laughing and defending Louis and Niall. Louis certainly does not need to be any more endeared by Harry Styles than he already is, and if Harry tries to defend him there is no way that it will lead to good things.

“You’re on, Tommo,” Niall tells Louis, and Louis just thinks, _here we go._

\--

One day, Louis thinks to himself vaguely, he will be mature enough not to challenge an Irishman to a drinking contest. That day is not today.

But that’s fine, because shots are fun. And now that they’re at the club, he is finally going to get to dance, which is excellent, because Louis loves dancing. He’ll get to soon. Once he gets a drink. If this bartender ever decides to serve them.

“I love dancing!” he tells Zayn, because Zayn deserves to know how happy he is. Judging by Zayn’s expression, Louis might have shouted that a bit. Whoops. Trying to lower his voice, Louis asks, “Have you seen Pezza? Is she here yet?”

“No,” Zayn sighs wearily while fluttering his eyelashes at the bartender. Though she is currently waiting on someone else, her transaction just got a lot speedier. Bless Zayn. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon, though. Jade said they were coming tonight, yeah?”

“Yes, so she’ll be here!” Louis promises. The bartender makes her way over to Zayn, ignoring the rest of them completely, which Louis finds a bit rude but happens more often than not. Fucking Zayn. At least they’ve established a routine now, in which Zayn always has to be the one to get the drinks, and rounds consist of just handing Zayn money. It’s a time-saver, and it means that only Zayn has to memorize what everyone else wants to drink. Louis is very grateful to him, so he gives Zayn a hug and tells him, “You’re the greatest, Zaynie!”

“Yes, thank you, Lou, love you, too. Now can you let go so I can pay the bartender?” Oh. Yes. Louis can do that. Especially since he gets a drink at the end. Zayn really is the greatest, so Louis makes sure to tell him so a couple more times as they make their way back to the table where Harry and Niall are camped out.

“Let’s dance, lads!” Louis calls as he approaches the table. “Time to dance! Live while we’re young and all that! Show off the flexibility that our jobs have required us to develop!”

Harry is standing and moving closer to Louis before Louis can even get to the table, which Louis is maybe a bit too excited about. He ruffles Harry’s hair and tells him gravely, “Good man, Styles. Zayn! Don’t sit back down!”

It’s too late. Zayn has already joined Niall at the table, and Louis knows from years of past experience that once Zayn is sitting, it’s nearly impossible to get him back up. Louis begins pouting to try to speed the process up.

“No, Lou,” Zayn says firmly upon spotting the pout. They have possibly been friends for too long. Zayn knows all of Louis’s tricks by now, which is just tragic. “I want to wait here so I can see the door and spot Perrie and the girls when they come in.”

“Zaaaaayn,” Louis whines, “you have to come dance with me. I’ve had an awful week, and everyone has to indulge my sadness.”

Harry, who had been looking around the dance floor, tunes back into the conversation at this. Looking rather wounded, he asks Louis, “Has it been that bad, then? Your week? I’m so sorry, I feel like I’ve ruined everything and now I’m just here as this massive reminder that I’ve cocked up literally your entire car--”

Louis claps a hand over Harry’s mouth before he can continue. Rotating Harry so that they’re close enough for Harry to hear without Louis having to shout, Louis says, “Bollocks. You haven’t ruined anything. You are far too pretty to ruin things. Now get on the dance floor with me and make me forget all about this somewhat but not entirely shit week.”

Harry smiles. “I think I might be able to help with that,” he says in his unfairly low voice, shifting just enough closer to Louis to make the remaining space between them one that does not exactly seem platonic.

Louis swallows and turns back to Zayn and Niall, who are barely concealing their grins. “Malik. Horan. I expect you on the dance floor as soon as you find Perrie and buy the girls drinks like the gentlemen you are,” he tells them, pointing at each of them in turn. “Now, Hazza, onward.”

As they move onto the dance floor, Louis can see that other people in the crowd--men and women alike--are giving Harry the eye. He glares at each one of them and grabs Harry’s wrist, spinning him around so that they’re facing one another. Harry grins down at Louis, seemingly content with Louis eliminating his other dance partner options.

At first, it’s relatively innocent. Louis isn’t a complete slag, after all. Sure, they’re dancing a bit close, and some of Louis’s movements might be a bit suggestive, but there’s still a few inches of space between them. Spending most of his life dancing has given Louis a very good understanding of the fine line between suggestive and slutty, and he is consciously trying to stay on that line. Even though Harry’s shirt is sheer and Louis can see that he has _four_ nipples (Jesus, why?) and that all of them are standing at attention.

On the one hand, Harry Styles was probably genetically engineered to smash Louis to smithereens. Louis should not be engaging with people that can destroy him.

On the other hand, Harry Styles has really adorable dimples that Louis would quite like to poke at. Preferably with his dick. And he feels like he might actually have a shot at that, shocking as it is.

On the _other_ other hand (foot? Wrist? Perhaps Louis should be counting fingers), Harry is currently choreographing a ballet that Louis is performing in. It wouldn’t be the most professional thing that Louis has ever done.

However. Harry might still be choreographing _Swan Lake_ , but casting is over. Meaning no one can accuse Louis of sleeping with Harry for a part. 

Plus, he’s been staring at Harry’s huge cock clearly outlined through his tights for multiple days now. Only a saint would be able to resist Harry Styles, and Louis has never claimed to be a saint. He smiles fondly at Harry, who has pulled out some weird drunk-dad sprinkler move.

Innocent dancing. This is totally fine. Louis has this situation under control.

The thing is, Louis has a personal rule: slutty dancing is not only allowed but outright required when Beyonce comes on. Beyonce deserves Louis’s best. So when the DJ puts on “Drunk in Love,” Louis gives Harry a mischievous smirk and slots one of his legs between Harry’s thighs. Harry doesn’t seem offended, since he leans down to croon, “I get filthy when that liquor get into me” into Louis’s ear in his deep voice.

Louis was unprepared for Harry also being a Beyonce fan. He might actually be perfect. Louis wraps an arm around the back of Harry’s neck and draws them just a bit closer together, in order to lick a stripe across Harry’s collarbone. Harry gratifyingly throws his head back, and, _oh_ , Louis can tell from where his thigh is tucked next to Harry’s crotch that Harry is now sporting a semi. Gratifying, indeed.

Looking back up at Harry’s face, Louis can see that Harry is just gazing down at him happily, lost in a bit of a daze. Is Harry real? Louis can’t remember the last time that someone looked at him like that--like Louis was the cause for their happiness. 

And, fuck it, casting is over. If anyone in the company wants to give him shit for this, so be it. Louis will just point at Harry if he has to defend his behaviour. Who could resist him?

So he pulls Harry in and kisses him.

At first, Harry seems thrown and takes a minute to respond. But he quickly gets up to speed, wrapping his arms tightly around Louis and giving his bum a squeeze. Louis nips at Harry’s lip a bit, and Harry responds but parting his lips, eager to receive more of Louis.

They’re full-on snogging on the dance floor, and Louis vaguely thinks that Harry might be the best kisser he has ever had the fortune to lock lips with. Harry’s incredibly responsive and _incredibly_ hot, swirling his tongue into Louis’s mouth with both skill and enthusiasm. Louis could blissfully spend the rest of his life snogging Harry.

But it’s still Beyonce, and there are still other things that Louis wants to do. Just as Beyonce sings out she’s going to “fill the tub up halfway,” Louis breaks the kiss, drawing a whine from Harry that Louis finds immensely flattering. 

Louis is not to be distracted right now, though. He is a man on a mission to seduce Harry Styles. Louis remembers that at some point he had thought that was a bad idea, but he can’t seem to come up with any reasons anymore. So he turns and playfully backs up directly into Harry’s crotch, ready and in position to join Beyonce in graining on that wood.

Once Harry realises what’s happening, he seems enthusiastic, drawing Louis in close to him and grinding in return. Harry sucks on Louis’s neck in a way that feels absolutely incredible, and Christ, Harry is not exactly the only one getting hard here. After a few minutes of circling his arse against Harry’s crotch, Louis is rapidly moving from a semi to a full-on erection, right there in the middle of the dance floor. Well, at least he’s not alone in his public arousal.

Ready for this to move a bit faster, Louis swivels back so that he’s facing Harry and immediately pulls Harry in as close as possible, so that their cocks are aligned. Louis ruts against Harry helplessly, too drunk and too horny to control himself at this point. Harry lets out a low groan and forces Louis to stop moving against him. Louis looks up at him, confused and feeling a bit betrayed.

He shouldn’t have, though, because Harry leans down and grits out the word “Toilets?” Louis thinks that perhaps he has never heard a more beautiful word. He kisses Harry quickly in assent, and grabs his wrist again to start pushing through the crowd on the way to the toilet. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see Niall, Zayn, Perrie, Jade, and a few other girls in the corps making their way onto the dance floor. Rather than making eye contact he chooses to pull Harry along more quickly. Louis loves his friends, but not enough to want to talk to a single one of them right now.

Thank _god_ , the large toilet stall is unoccupied, and Louis and Harry move into it, unable to stop kissing even as they tumble in and lock the door. Louis makes sure to pinch Harry’s delectable little arse, which he has been staring at for an entire week of rehearsals without being able to touch. It should be criminal. 

Suddenly, Louis feels Harry pull away, leaving his lips searching a bit while Louis feels like an idiot. Harry grabs Louis’s chin and says earnestly, “You know that I really like you, yeah? This isn’t just a grope in the club for me. You’re such a talented dancer, and funny, and really proper fit, and I just wanted to let you know that I would quite like to do this for more than just a snogging session in the toilets.”

Louis just stares at Harry for a minute, a bit awestruck. Harry seems to be misinterpreting Louis’s look of awe, though, since he quickly says, “I don’t want to sound creepy, or whatever, I just thought that--”

For the second time tonight, Louis claps his hand across Harry’s mouth to stop him from talking. This time, though, since they’re still pressed together from the waist down, Louis can feel that Harry’s dick twitches when Louis does so. _Interesting_. But now is not the time to be distracted.

“You do talk some shit, don’t you?” Louis asks fondly, tracing his fingers over Harry’s lips. Harry makes a protesting noise, but Louis just sticks two fingers into Harry’s mouth instead. After a second of confusion, Harry gives in and begins sucking on them.

Louis moves in closer and begins planting kisses down the curve of Harry’s neck and shoulder. “You should know,” Louis tells him, “that you do not sound creepy at all.” God, Harry is good at sucking. “I didn’t respond faster because I was a bit in shock that the fittest, most thoughtful lad I’ve seen in ages wants to spend time with me.” 

Harry makes another protesting whine, and this time stops sucking on Louis’s fingers long enough to get out, “I told you to stop putting yourself down. I don’t like it. You’re brilliant.”

Louis takes his fingers from Harry’s mouth in order to pull him into a long, slow kiss. “Thanks, darling,” he says after. “You’re brilliant, too. Now, would you mind if we got back to where we left off?”

Not waiting for an answer, Louis drops to his knees and starts pulling at Harry’s zipper. Harry’s eyes grow wide, and he lets out a slow, deep groan. 

And oh, this is _extremely_ interesting. “No pants, Harold?” Louis asks, upon undoing Harry’s zipper and button. “What a naughty boy.” Harry blushes a bit but doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he tangles a hand in Louis’s hair and gives him a bit of a pleading look.

Louis smirks at him. “Alright, then, Haz, I hear you. No teasing.”

True to his word at least for a moment, Louis’s next move is to remove Harry’s cock from the trousers that Louis is now sure are jeggings slowly and carefully. “Christ, Harry. You’re proper hung.” Louis isn’t exaggerating. He’d figured from seeing Harry in tights that he wasn’t going to be disappointed, but he wasn’t expecting it to be quite so large.

Harry’s blush intensifies even further. “Is it--if it’s too big, I don’t want you to--”

“Hush, Harold,” Louis orders. “You’ve a lovely cock, and I am looking forward to sucking it. Stop trying to come up with reasons for me not to.” With that, he licks his palm and rubs it over the base while delicately licking the head. It really is rather lovely, as far as penises go; nice and big and flatteringly purple. Louis’s antics have clearly produced results.

After a moment of this, jerking Harry slowly while licking at the head, Louis decides that this has been enough teasing after all. He’s sobered up enough that he wants to really impress Harry, and show him that Louis is quite enough of a pro to do this even with Harry’s monster cock. Without warning Harry, Louis opens his mouth and moves down to properly engulf about half of Harry’s dick.

That just won’t do. Louis is a champion head-giver, and he will not be bested. Even though the precome starting to leak from Harry’s cock and Harry’s hand tightening in his hair suggest that Harry is quite pleased, Louis expects more from himself.

“God, Lou, that’s--you’re so--”

He pulls off just long enough to breathe and to lick his hand again, putting his now-wet right palm at the base while playing with Harry’s balls. Once he has enough of a breath, Louis firmly tells his gag reflex to go fuck itself and manages to get Harry’s cock all the way to the back of his throat. He’s still got to cover the last inch or two with his palm, but Harry is now completely wrapped up in Louis.

Harry also seems to have lost the power of speech. He’s no longer even trying to tell Louis how good he is, but is just making low, incoherent moaning sounds that are making Louis’s own dick start to leak a bit. Louis bobs up and down, getting a good rhythm going and making sure to lick the large vein on the underside of Harry’s cock.

Once he does that, Harry’s groans become even louder. “Lou,” he chokes out in a broken voice while desperately pulling at Louis’s hair, “I think--I’m going to--” Evidently giving up on words, he starts tugging at Louis’s hair more in the universal signal to let him know to pull off.

Louis is having none of it. He takes Harry down as far as he can one last time, feeling the head of Harry’s cock hit the back of his throat, then pulls back a bit to keep just the head in his mouth. Harry keeps twisting at Louis’s hair as he comes with one hand, spilling hot down Louis’s throat and using his other hand to caress Louis’s face. It’s unusually sweet for someone who’s coming. Louis is impressed but not surprised that Harry manages to be polite even then.

Once his orgasm finally passes, Harry pulls out of Louis’s mouth and collapses heavily against the wall of the stall. Louis unbuttons and unzips his own trousers, quickly pulling his own cock out of his pants and roughly jerking himself with his still-wet palm. He’s close, incredibly turned on from the combination of sucking Harry and from Harry’s awestruck eyes, so it doesn’t take long before he’s coming into his palm. 

After grabbing some toilet paper, Louis wipes off his hand quickly, crumbling the toilet paper and throwing it into the corner. He weakly gets his dick back in his trousers and moves over to collapse next to Harry, who grabs Louis’s hand and kisses his fingers. It’s unexpectedly sweet. 

They just lean on each other in silence for a couple of minutes, listening to their breathing slow down to a normal pace. Louis turns just enough to be able to kiss Harry’s shoulder.

“Lou?” Harry asks hesitantly once they’re both breathing normally again. “Would I be ruining this if I asked you to come back to mine and fuck me?”

Even this soon after coming, Louis’s dick gives a twitch of interest. Louis moves so that he’s pinning Harry against the wall and gives him a hard kiss. Pulling back just enough to talk, he murmurs into Harry’s mouth, “Is it time to leave yet?”

Judging by how quickly Harry gets his own trousers back on and starts tugging Louis out of the toilets, the answer is yes.

\--

One thankfully short cab ride complete with overzealous snogging and perhaps some indiscriminate petting through trousers later, Louis slams Harry against the door of Harry’s flat as soon as they manage to stumble through. He feels Harry go a bit slack beneath him as Louis pins Harry to the door, clutching down on his wrists. 

God, Harry is so fucking _responsive_ , and Louis idly wonders to himself if all of this was just the universe trying to even out its karma. Like, no promotion for you, but to even it out you get to fuck this incredibly fit boy. 

Louis sucks a love bite into Harry’s neck, drawing out a moan, and decides that if that’s what this is, he’ll take it.

Harry starts shifting beneath him a bit, and finally opens his eyes to smile at Louis. His pupils are blown wide, and he’s so clearly on edge that Louis feels very pleased with himself. “Bed?” Harry asks, almost whining the word.

“Are you sure, love?” Louis says wickedly, pressing light kisses to the new mark forming on Harry’s neck. “You look so lovely right here.”

Harry groans audibly and bites at Louis’s shoulder. “Want you-- _fucking_ \--want you inside me, Lou, can’t believe I didn’t get to blow you at the club, just want you to fuck me, please--”

Louis’s trousers are growing tighter again by the second. “I think we can accommodate that request,” he says, backing away a bit so that Harry can move but retaining his grasp on Harry’s wrist. “Lead the way, sweets.”

Harry’s face splits into a grin, and he presses a quick kiss to Louis’s mouth before drawing him towards the bedroom. Louis vaguely notes as he’s towed through the living area that the place feels a bit sterile, not at all what he would expect from Harry’s vibrancy. There’s a few dance prints on the wall, but no mess at all. Then again, if Harry’s been touring for the last few years, decorating his flat probably hasn’t been much of a priority. 

It’s a small flat--this is London, after all--so thankfully it only takes a few seconds to get into the bedroom, where Harry promptly falls backward onto the bed and pulls Louis on top of him. They lay there for a few minutes, rutting lazily against each other and snogging as they get closer to being completely hard again. Some of the urgency of the cab ride seems to have seeped away, and Louis thinks (quite sappily; he’s embarrassed at himself) that he could be happy just lying here with this beautiful boy forever.

Evidently Harry disagrees, since he begins to up the pace of the gentle grind and lets out a whine. Just like that, Louis is rock hard once again, and judging by what he’s feeling beneath him, Harry’s there as well. It’s amazing what Harry’s noises do to him.

“Need me now, baby?” Louis whispers directly into Harry’s ear. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” Harry clutches at the back of Louis’s neck in lieu of a response and lets out another whine. Louis tangles his fingers gently into Harry’s curls and purrs, “Where’s the lube, love?”

He can _see_ on Harry how much this is affecting him, can tell how much effort it’s taking to think rationally in the way that Harry flutters his eyelashes and breathes heavily. After a few deep breaths, Harry finally shimmies out from Louis a bit and reaches towards the bedside table. Since he’s still mostly pinned by Louis, though, Harry’s just grasping at air, unable to totally reach. Louis smirks, quite pleased with how much he’s already impeding Harry’s ability to function, and reaches over Harry to remove lube and condoms from the drawer.

Harry sighs in relief and pulls Louis back to fully cover him, insistently seeking another kiss. Louis indulges him for a second before pushing up on his arms to look down at Harry for a minute. He really is the most beautiful person that Louis has ever fucked. Well. He’s about to be, anyway.

Louis has evidently been staring for too long, since Harry starts squirming insistently beneath him, muttering, “Lou, are you going to fuck me or not?”

And, well. Louis aims to please.

After rolling off of Harry entirely, Louis crouches at the end of the bed and gently pulls Harry’s knees apart, bending them back and placing Harry’s hands on them to hold the position. “Alright like this, love?” he asks. “I’d like to watch you.”

Harry nods his assent, and Louis, still hardly able to believe his luck, opens up the lube and starts slicking up his fingers. He leans down and starts teasing around Harry’s rim, moving his finger slowly while sucking a bruise into Harry’s thigh.

Above him, Harry lets out a low groan and throws his head back. Louis is officially going to be ruined for ever having sex with anyone else. This boy is going to be the death of him. For revenge, he nips at the bruise a bit. Judging by Harry’s spine arching further, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Done with teasing, Louis finally moves a finger slowly but insistently into Harry. “Feel good, darling?” he asks, but it’s a bit unnecessary, seeing as Harry is already trying to fuck himself on it. “Slow down a bit, love, we’ve got all night.”

“Don’t--can’t-- _Lou_ ,” Harry pants. “Just--don’t want to _wait_ \--please, just _fuck_ me already--”

Louis grins and moves the finger already inside Harry carefully, making sure to stay away from his prostate. “So greedy, Harold. I’ve already made you come once tonight, and you can’t be patient now?”

Harry turns his face into the pillow and moans. “You’re going to kill me,” he mumbles, words already turning indistinct.

“Ready for another, then?”

“God, fucking--just go already--”

Louis obliges, pushing his middle finger in quickly without giving Harry time to adjust. Harry’s moan sounds almost painful this time, and Louis is worried for a moment. “You okay there? I’m not hurting you, am I? I can slow down--”

Harry manages to use just his abs (Jesus fucking Christ how did Louis get here) to hunch up to make eye contact with Louis. “Don’t you _fucking_ dare,” he rasps out, and, oh. Okay. Louis swallows audibly and feels his dick start to leak precome.

Fine, time to speed this along, then. Louis starts moving his fingers with more of a purpose, searching more deliberately for the distinctly different feel of Harry’s prostate. When Harry’s entire body stiffens for a moment before letting out the highest-pitched whine Louis has heard yet, he knows he’s found it.

“There, yes, Louis, don’t--please, Lou, I need you in me--”

“Already in you, sweets,” Louis says cheekily.

Harry groans. “You _know_ what I fucking mean, Jesus, get your goddamn cock in me already or I swear I’m going to come without you ever even getting in.”

Well, Louis certainly doesn’t want that. “You don’t need a third finger, love?”

Harry shakes his head, and, pulling back up to look at Louis again, tells him, “I like it to hurt a bit.”

Jesus.

Louis isn’t going to last much longer either, at this rate, so he pulls his fingers out of Harry and starts working to perform the complicated task of getting a condom on while one hand is already wet. Once he’s finally managed it, he looks up on the bed to find, to his surprise, Harry not touching himself but fisting the sheets beneath him, just breathing heavily and waiting for Louis.

There must be some sort of a question in Louis’s eyes, since Harry gives him a sweet smile and says, “Was afraid I was gonna come without you. Want to come on your cock.”

Louis can get onboard with that. Like, very onboard. Unless he comes spontaneously in the next three seconds from just looking at Harry. God, he isn’t even in him yet and he’s already on the edge.

Slowly, carefully, Louis lubes up his cock, trying hard to do so without making his arousal even more uncomfortable. He’s fighting a losing battle, especially with Harry right there, looking so soft and warm and open, just for _him_. 

“How d’you want it, love?” Louis asks. 

“Can--can we just stay like this?” Harry responds, almost bashfully. “I want to be able to see you.”

Louis is overwhelmed with fondness for this truly lovely boy. He clambers up to press a long kiss to Harry’s lips, starting sweet and quickly turning dirty as Harry begins to move beneath him. “Okay,” Louis breathes out, and forces himself back down, carefully lining up his cock with Harry’s hole.

He presses just the head in at first, and both of them groan in unison. Harry’s still so tight, and so _hot_ , that Louis can’t contain himself. He’s still a bit worried, though, about not having taken the time to adequately prepare Harry.

Before he can even get the words out, though, Harry gasps, “ _Please_ , Louis, I swear I’m fine, just--just keep _going_.”

Louis inhales sharply and presses in a bit further, leaning down to suck at one of Harry’s nipples while he does so. Harry’s back arches and he begins to scratch at Louis’s back with one hand, kneading his arse with the other as though he’s trying to force him in further.

“Don’t want to go too fast, babe, don’t want to hurt you,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s chest.

“Oh my _god_ , Lou, what is going to hurt me is if you don’t _fuck me now_ ,” Harry says, his voice rising to a half-shout. Louis is beginning to feel a bit light-headed from how overwhelming this whole thing is, but not out of it enough to ignore Harry’s request. While moving his attentions over to another of Harry’s nipples, Louis keeps pushing in, slowly.

Once he’s finally bottomed out, they both gasp, locking eyes while Harry clutches even more tightly at Louis’s bum. He’s definitely going to have imprints from Harry’s fingers there when this is all over, but considering the number of marks he’s left on Harry at this point, Louis figures that’s probably only fair. Louis stares down at Harry for a moment, a bit of a smile on his face. This was the absolute best-case scenario for how Louis’s night could end, but he hasn’t exactly been expecting best-case scenarios this week.

“Louis, _move_ ,” Harry whines, starting the motion himself to try to fuck himself on Louis. 

Startled out of his reverie, Louis’s smile widens and he pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the head in, before _slamming_ back into Harry, aiming directly for his prostate.

Judging by the moan Harry lets out, this is what he’s been going for this whole time, and Louis is only too happy to oblige. They find a rhythm, rocking into each other while Louis bites at Harry’s shoulder and Harry scratches his nails across Louis’s back. Louis can feel Harry’s cock, painfully hard and throbbing between them.

“This what you wanted, Haz?” Louis gasps. “What you’d imagined all week, while you were staring at my cock in rehearsals?”

Harry lets out a wordless moan, past the point of words, but manages to nod a bit. Louis has never been so pleased with himself.

“I bet it is,” he continues, punctuating each phrase with another thrust at Harry’s spot, “this is what you’ve been wanting, every time you find me alone in the toilets, just hoping that I would find you, fuck you, give you what you really want--”

Harry’s movements beneath Louis and his fingers on Louis’s back are becoming more frantic. Louis watches as Harry thrusts his head back, lost completely to the sensations. Louis bites down again, not sure how much longer he can be expected to last, since he’s finally _inside of Harry_.

“‘M gonna--Lou,” Harry manages to get out. After that, though, he just breaks into a chant of, “Lou, Lou, please, Lou,” until Louis finally takes mercy on him.

“Gonna come, babes?” Louis pants. He reaches between them to get a hand on Harry’s cock, already leaking precome. “Let me fuck you through it, love,” he says, and begins roughly jerking Harry.

Relieved that Louis understood him, Harry nods frantically and _writhes_ beneath Louis, nails digging into Louis’s back in a way that’s not entirely comfortable but certainly not something that Louis plans to discourage. Harry’s been on edge for so long that Louis isn’t exactly surprised it takes less than a minute of Louis tugging at him before he’s spilling into Louis’s hand with a high cry.

Harry goes a bit boneless after he comes, and Louis holds him still for a moment before starting to gently pull out. He feels Harry’s arms clasp around him, and without opening his eyes, Harry croaks, “Don’t you dare.”

“What, love?”

“Want you--keep fucking me. Want you to come while you’re still in me.”

Louis certainly isn’t going to refuse him, so he keeps thrusting, even though he can tell from Harry’s movements that he’s incredibly oversensitive. Louis tries to slow a bit, more moving within Harry than driving into him, but Harry clutches at Louis’s arse again and pushes at it, wordlessly urging him to go faster.

And--Louis still just can’t believe that this has really happened, that he’s lucky enough to be fucking Harry Styles, that despite his utterly shite week, he’s ended up in bed with the most attractive bloke he’s met in months. He’s a bit overwhelmed by it all, but obliges Harry’s silent request and fucks him faster, only taking a few more moments before he’s coming into the condom while chanting Harry’s name.

Once he’s finished, Louis collapses on Harry for a moment, content to just lie there. When he’s finally softened, though, he braces himself back up again and gently pulls out of Harry, making quick work of removing the condom and tying it off. He manages to get himself off of the bed and stumble into the bathroom, disposing of the condom and finding a flannel for Harry.

Harry hasn’t moved a muscle since Louis got off of him, making Louis suspect that he fell asleep already. He manages to startle a jump out of Louis when he opens his eyes as Louis starts cleaning him with the flannel, and then they both dissolve into giggles at Louis’s overreaction.

“Hey,” Harry says in an unmistakably fucked-out voice while Louis rubs the flannel over his belly.

“Hi yourself,” Louis replies, finishing with cleaning Harry. He lies down facing Harry, tossing the flannel over his shoulder onto the ground. Harry immediately pulls Louis in closer, draping an arm over him and planting a quick kiss to his neck.

“‘M glad I came out with you,” Harry says hazily, barely able to keep his eyes open. Louis shares the sentiment. He hadn’t been tired at all until he’d come, kept up by the adrenaline, but now he feels like he could sleep for ages.

“Me too, Haz,” Louis says quietly. “Okay if I stay the night?”

“Course,” Harry mumbles into Louis’s shoulder. “Stay right here.” 

Louis wraps his own arm around Harry and thinks that’s something he can manage quite easily.

\--

Louis has a mouthful of curls when he wakes up and is being slowly smothered by Harry, who seems to have decided that sleeping directly on top of Louis is his preferred spot on the bed.

The fact that Louis is even further endeared by this suggests that he might be in serious trouble. Not that he wasn’t in trouble the second that Harry crashed into him in the toilet.

He manoeuvres his body enough to get one of his arms in a position where he can move it and starts slowly, lazily stroking Harry’s hair. To Louis’s great amusement, Harry actually _lets out a purr_ in his sleep. Louis snorts a bit, unable to keep it in, and the accompanying twitch of his muscles jolts Harry awake. He jerks into a half-sitting position, alarm clearly stated on his face as he looks wildly around the room before turning to Louis.

Louis suspects that his smile has moved far past “sexy” and into “somewhat deranged,” but he can’t be arsed. “Sorry, love,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Harry groans and lays back down to nuzzle into Louis’s chest. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “Timezit?”

Craning his neck to see the clock around Harry’s back, Louis tells him, “About half ten.”

Harry lets out a long sigh and remains snuggled into Louis for a moment. Then he seems suddenly to wake up all the way, clambering up and throwing a leg over Louis’s to straddle him and pull him into a kiss. Louis is a bit startled by the sudden movement, but smiles into the kiss. Despite both of them tasting a bit stale, Harry really is the best person he’s ever snogged. It’s a bit of a relief to realise that wasn’t just Drunk Louis’s judgment.

“Hi,” Harry giggles after releasing Louis from the kiss. He pulls Louis closer to him again and rubs their noses together in an Eskimo kiss.

“Hi,” Louis smiles in return. “Good to see you’re so perky in the mornings.”

“What’s not to be happy about?” Harry grins. “Pulled this fit lad last night who I’ve been lusting after, like, forever.”

“Is that so?” Louis moves his hand so that he can grope at Harry’s arse.

“Yup. I’ve had to watch for a whole week as he pranced around in tights and tight tshirts,” Harry says gravely. “Torture, that.”

“Well, I’m not the only one!” Louis points out. “Don’t think I haven’t been staring at your dance belt all week.”

Harry’s grin grows even wider. “Darling, there was nothing subtle about you staring at my dance belt.”

“If I’d wanted to be subtle, you would have never even known,” Louis declares, flicking at Harry’s shoulder in revenge.

“If you say so, Lou,” Harry placates, moving Louis’s hand away from his shoulder. “Are you hungry? I can make us some breakfast.”

Come to think of it, Louis could stand to eat. “Food sounds lovely, yeah.”

Harry breaks into a grin. “Good, I’ll go start on a fry up, then. How d’you like your eggs?” 

“However you’re having them is great,” Louis assures him.

Harry plants a kiss on Louis’s forehead before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Alright, then. If you’re wanting a shower, you can hop in and I’ll have food ready by the time you’re out, yeah?” 

“Perfect. Thanks, love,” Louis says, and watches as Harry’s smile grows even wider at the endearment. Louis remains mystified as to how the hell he got this lucky, especially as he watches Harry’s bum while he strolls to the kitchen still naked.

Louis manages to work up the energy to go have a piss and hop in the shower after a few moments. He smells the shampoo dubiously before using it, reasoning that if the fruity scent works on Harry, it won’t smell awful on him.

Once Louis is dried off and has stolen a shirt of Harry’s and some pants, he moves into the kitchen, where he sees Harry bopping around, singing something to himself. As Louis moves closer, he’s able to make out the words. 

“ _Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth_ ,” Harry croons as he whisks, and Louis’s entire face might split in two at how adorable this boy is. 

He sneaks up behind Harry and pinches his bum, making Harry squawk and jump to a height that proves he’s a dancer. Louis chuckles at the pout Harry gives him once he turns around.

“You could have killed me, you know,” Harry points out. “I am standing in front of a hot stove.”

“Ah. My apologies,” Louis says, leaning in closer. “Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”

Harry breaks and smiles. “Kiss me.” Louis obliges willingly, grabbing Harry to plant a smacking kiss on his forehead.

“Now, I was promised breakfast?” Louis demands, moving away.

“Twat,” Harry says mildly, but starts to dish food anyway. He hands Louis a plate that looks both full and appetizing, though it looks suspiciously as though there are vegetables mixed in with the eggs, and suddenly Louis is _starving_.

They take their plates over to Harry’s small table and eat happily in silence, playing footsie while they do so. Louis is happy but not surprised to discover that Harry really is a good cook, and that the food tastes as good as it looks.

“Hey,” Harry says after a while, pulling at Louis’s foot to make sure that he has his attention. Louis makes eye contact, content to gaze at Harry’s eyes. They’re really quite a lovely shade of green. “I’m glad we did this.”

Louis can’t resist standing a bit to lean over the table to give Harry a kiss. “I am, too, love,” he tells him, completely sincere. “So, so glad.”

The two grin at each other a bit and then return to their food, Harry running his foot up the inside of Louis’s thigh. Louis thinks to himself that even if this hasn’t been the week he would have asked for, he really can’t complain about how it’s turned out. So maybe he didn’t become a principal dancer, but at least he scored Harry Styles.

On the whole, Louis finds he really can’t complain.

\--

On Monday morning, Louis comes into the studio feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and extremely well-fucked. He can’t quite seem to keep a smirk off of his face as he saunters through the studio, heading as usual to the smallest toilet.

For once, Louis walks into Harry inside the toilet, instead of the other way around. This time, though, Harry’s clearly been waiting for him--he’s lounging against the sink facing the door, doing something on his phone.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Louis purrs as the door closes behind him. Harry looks up from his phone with a grin already growing across his face. He shoves his phone into his pocket and pulls Louis into a kiss.

Louis intends for it to be an innocent greeting kiss, he really does. But he hasn’t seen Harry since eight the night before, when their sex-a-thon (as Louis referred to it. Harry kept calling his apartment their love nest, much to Louis’s secret amusement) finally came to an end. Harry had insisted that he had to actually get some sleep in order to be at work early to meet with Simon, and Louis reluctantly agreed.

More importantly, as they work in a profession where alterations to one’s regular movements are extremely noticeable, Louis is pretty sure that if he’d stayed at Harry’s another night, one or both of them would have been walking--and dancing--quite differently today. 

The separation was necessary, and Louis even agreed to it. But now, looking at Harry’s stupid handsome face, and finally getting to thread his fingers into Harry’s hair, Louis thinks that he must have been an idiot not to have found a way to wake up looking at this boy. 

So although Louis had good intentions at the beginning, the kiss quickly turns much less innocent. Harry’s rutting up against Louis in no time at all, and Louis can feel himself beginning to get hard as well. Much as it pains him, he forces himself to pull away. 

Harry opens his eyes and pouts while trying to bring Louis back closer to him. Louis smiles, endeared, but tells him sadly, “Hazza, you know we can’t. I’ve got morning class starting in fifteen minutes.” 

Louis’s infallible logic doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on Harry, who leans forward to nuzzle at Louis’s neck. Louis laughs and lets him for a moment, but finally is forced to firmly say, “No. I have to go now. Harry.”

After sighing deeply, Harry finally lets him go. They smile at each other like idiots. “Good to see you, Lou. Missed you.”

Louis is a bit afraid that the smile he’s sporting is actually going to split his face in half. “So you didn’t decide this whole weekend was a mistake and that you never wanted to see me again?” His tone makes it clear that he’s joking, but there’s an undercurrent of insecurity there. Louis still can’t quite believe that he’s lucky enough for Harry to want him--he keeps expecting him to come to his senses.

“No,” Harry says decidedly, tapping Louis on the nose. “In fact, I think we should both give up on this whole ballet business and just go spend the rest of our lives in bed.”

Pretending to sigh from exasperation (Louis is pretty sure it comes across as more of a lovesick sigh than anything else), Louis informs Harry, “Wait about ten years, love, and my career will be over anyway. Until then, I have to go to work.” He gives Harry a quick kiss goodbye and exits the toilet before Harry can pull him back in again--though not before Louis takes one more glance over his shoulder just to remind himself that Harry’s real. 

God, he’s lucky. Louis can’t keep that thought out of his mind the whole time that he’s in class, and Yvonne can definitely tell that something’s up. It probably doesn’t help that Zayn keeps hissing things under his breath like “ _What kind of a friend doesn’t text for two days to tell the sex details_ ” and _“If we were true friends you would tell me what had happened with Harry before we have to go into rehearsals with him_.”

And oh, yeah, that’s something that Louis hasn’t really considered. He gets to see Harry again just after lunch. Maybe during lunch as well, actually, if he can get away. So it probably is for the best if he finds some time to tell Zayn what’s going on before they’re all stuck in a rehearsal studio together and Zayn rebels out of sheer obstructionism. It’s happened before.

“Later!” Louis mutters back at Zayn, just in time to be called out by Yvonne and asked to lead the floor combinations. One of these days, Louis is going to throw Zayn under the bus and he will never know what hit him.

Of course, the bus usually has to cooperate for that to work. With the figurative bus in this situation being Yvonne, Louis is unsure that she would actually end up blaming Zayn. Ah, well. Surely he’s building up some good karma by always being the fall guy.

Yvonne eyes Louis suspiciously throughout the class, but Louis can’t be bothered to figure out why. He’s not even being irritating--he is deliberately avoiding Zayn and any attempts to be easily distracted. Just like he had promised Yvonne on Friday, Louis is being A Professional today. It seems to be throwing her off a bit. Ha.

At the end of class, Zayn is propelling Louis out the door before he’s even got his bag properly slung over his shoulder, and Louis is starting to feel a bit bad. If their positions had been reversed, Zayn definitely would have called to tell him what was going on. Once Louis manages to slow Zayn down enough to grab his phone, he sees a text from Harry.

_can’t make lunch - Cowell wants to meet during that time - see you in rehearsal! .xx_

Louis smiles at the screen and texts back a quick _good luck! .xx_ while Zayn reads over his shoulder and makes retching noises in the background. He elbows Zayn once he’s done, signalling that they should go ahead and meet Niall at the sandwich shop around the corner where they traditionally have Monday lunch. They’re creatures of habit.

“Oh, _there_ he is!” Niall shouts across the shop as soon as they enter, making both Zayn and Louis wince. “Can’t be bothered to answer one fecking text all weekend, but he’ll turn up to lunch, sure.”

Louis sighs heavily as they move over to Niall, who has clearly not waited for them to order. Louis is officially being punished. “Yes, I’m aware, I am the worst friend, you and Zayn are great friends and I am an unworthy peasant.”

“At least you understand your place, peon,” Zayn tells him. “Now go buy me lunch and then come back and tell us about you and young Harry.”

There are some battles worth fighting, but looking at Zayn’s face, Louis can tell that this is not one of them. He complies, deciding to take the past of least resistance, and returns to the table a few minutes later with two sandwiches. Judging by Zayn and Niall’s expressions, Louis is clearly facing a united front.

“So,” Niall begins, having already finished his own sandwich, “we know--at least, we’re pretty sure we know--that you left the club with Harry on Friday.”

Louis nods in confirmation.

“Okay, so--you and Harry are, like, a proper thing now?” Zayn asks.

Once again, Louis nods. It’s mutual. They’ve discussed it.

Niall coos at Louis and pinches his cheek. “Our little Boo Bear, finding someone worth settling down with!”

“Piss off,” Louis laughs. “It’s not like I have commitment issues, I just haven’t found anyone I’ve clicked with in a while. It’s different with Harry.” 

Zayn and Niall _awww_ in unison, making Louis blush.

“Well,” Zayn says more seriously, “we very much approve of Harry, so we’re glad that he’s making you happy.”

Louis smiles down at his plate and avoids making eye contact for a bit. He feels spectacularly happy. And he’ll get to see Harry again in about an hour. Louis Tomlinson is pretty fucking lucky.

\--

Harry’s behaviour in rehearsal is--not exactly what Louis was expecting.

Like, they hadn’t _discussed_ how they were going to behave or anything, so Louis probably shouldn’t have had expectations at all. Also, they probably should have talked about how they were going to act in the workplace before they were, like, in the actual workplace.

But still. This is odd.

From the moment that Louis walks into the studio, it’s clear that something is a bit off. Harry is already in deep conversation with Leslie, who’s playing the Queen. So it’s not that Louis expects Harry to drop everything and run over to greet him (though that would be nice), but he does expect something more than the half-hearted wave and avoidance of eye contact that he does get.

It’s just not like Harry. Usually when he sees Louis his whole face lights up. Now he just looks unhappy. Louis can’t help but wonder if he’s managed to do something wrong already.

The whole rehearsal is weird and stilted. Harry’s mind is clearly elsewhere throughout, and not in a fun “I’m distracted by my fit new lover” kind of way. Even though Louis is wearing purple tights, he’s only spotted Harry eyeing his arse once.

Something’s wrong, but Louis doesn’t know what. Harry also seems to be avoiding getting too close to Louis. Where last week, Harry was touching Louis to correct poses at every opportunity, now he is maintaining at least a foot of distance at all times.

Zayn mouths _Everything okay?_ over to Louis. Louis doesn’t feel like everything is okay, but he nods and smiles brightly anyway. Probably Harry just felt weird about too blatantly favouring Louis in front of the other dancers.

And, okay, that at least makes some sense, so Louis decides to run with it and take that as his chosen reasoning for Harry’s deeply weird behaviour. They’ll still need to talk about this after, of course, but Louis’s not going to pressure him about it during rehearsal when Harry’s already so clearly out of sorts.

There’s nothing to do but get through it. Which Louis does, albeit somewhat impatiently. He doesn’t like watching Harry turn away from him. It feels wrong.

Finally, _finally_ , it’s six o’clock and rehearsal is coming to an end. Louis feels like he’s spent the last five years in the room, rather than five hours. He purposely dawdles while getting his bag together, motioning to Zayn to go ahead without him. Louis winds up pulling out his phone and texting his mum just to give him a reason to still be in the room.

It works. After a few minutes, everyone has cleared out except for Harry and Louis. 

Louis still can’t read exactly what’s happening on Harry’s face. He smiles when he looks at Louis, but his eyes still look sad. “Hey, Hazza, everything okay?” Louis asks tentatively.

Harry’s smile weakens a bit. “Er. Want to go for a cuppa before heading home?”

It’s unclear whether Harry means that they’ll go home together or not, but Louis is going to assume the best. He nods his assent and exits the building with Harry, placing an arm around his wait to steer him towards a nearby cafe that Louis actually trusts to make his tea properly. Harry manages a bit of a laugh when Louis tells him this, but it’s not a real one. Usually Harry finds Louis hilarious. He’s also not leaning into Louis’s arm, but holding his body stiff instead. Louis is Officially Worried.

Once they’ve gotten into the cafe, Louis drags Harry over to a table and deposits him there. “How d’you take your tea? I’ll go order.”

“Er. Two sugars?” Harry says, although it sounds almost like a question. He’s clearly still on edge.

“Styles, you disgust me,” Louis tells him. “Real Englishmen take their tea without any sugar, but I shall make an exception for you.” He marches off to get their tea, hoping that by having a moment of space, Harry can pull himself together.

By the time Louis is back with the tea, though, Harry looks even more nervous. He’s shifting in his seat and playing with the several bracelets that he wears on his left arm. This can’t be a good sign.

Louis hands him his tea cheerfully anyway. “Here you are, love,” he says, and to his utmost horror, Harry starts tearing up. 

They had been seated across from one another, but at the onslaught of tears, Louis moves his chair around the table to hug Harry from the side. “Hazza, babes, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?”

Harry wipes quickly at his eyes and lowly says, “No, Louis, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

There’s a beat of silence before Louis realises that Harry isn’t planning on continuing. “So… did something happen? Can I do anything to help?”

Harry takes a few deep breaths that look as though they’re calming him a bit. They aren’t doing much to calm Louis, but at least he hadn’t massively fucked something up without realising. Things could be worse.

“So you know that I had to have lunch with Simon today,” Harry says finally.

Louis nods.

Harry takes another moment to breathe. “Well. Simon said that--that he was walking past the toilet this morning and heard us in there.”

Louis laughs a little. “Well, that’s embarrassing, but I don’t think we did anything too awful. Better the toilet here than the one at the club, eh?” 

Judging by Harry’s face, he seems to disagree. “Simon told me that under no circumstances can I hope to make it as a choreographer and carry on a romantic relationship with a dancer in the company under his watch.”

Louis is stunned into silence--a pretty rare feat. “Simon said--sorry, so--what does that mean?”

Harry lets out a long, sad sigh. “It means that Simon will fire me if I’m seeing you while I’m still at the English National Ballet.”

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Louis says after taking a pause to process. “So, what, that’s it? So as long as Simon doesn’t know anything, it’s fine, yeah?”

“Lou,” Harry whispers, “he could also fire you. And I’m absolute rubbish at acting, he’d be able to tell in a second if we were still seeing each other.”

Louis is sure that his face is anything but attractive right now, probably stuck in some parody of disbelief. This is so far from how he thought that he would end his day. The first good day he’s had since Simon fucked him over on his contract, and now Simon’s going to fuck him over in his personal life as well as his professional.

Harry looks at him pleadingly. “You know he’s right, Louis. I fancy you _immensely_ , and I hate that we’re having to do this, but it could affect both of our careers if we were seen as a couple while I’m supposed to be teaching you this new role--”

“We’re not even a proper couple yet,” Louis says, still stuck in disbelief. “It’s literally been three days. Simon’s that worried about something that’s been going on for three days?”

“It seems so, yes,” Harry admits. “He sees this production of _Swan Lake_ as bankrolling his next few passion projects, and he doesn’t want any bad press to get in the way of its marketing.”

Now _that_ sounds like Simon. Louis gives a short laugh that is absolutely devoid of any mirth. “So. That’s it, then?”

Harry grabs Louis’s hand and looks at him intently. “Louis, I am so sorry about this, but I hope that you get that I’m thinking of you in this as well. I really do--I obviously am not going to ask you to wait around for me until this is over, but I haven’t fancied someone as much as I like you in quite a while. I don’t really anticipate it happening in the next six weeks.”

Louis smiles ruefully. “Me neither. I mean, I certainly don’t click like this with most people.”

Harry’s eyes have a sheen of hope to them. “So. We have to be just friends for now. Mostly colleagues, more than friends. But in six weeks, rehearsals will be over, and once you’re in performances, I won’t work for the English National Ballet anymore, and Simon won’t be able to tell either of us that we’re being unprofessional.”

Louis exhales slowly and wishes bitterly that he smoked. He squeezes Harry’s hand. “So, six weeks, then?”

“Six weeks,” Harry says, and it sounds like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i swear this will be complete this thursday. come say hi/let me know what you thought on [tumblr](http://balanceds.tumblr.com/)


	3. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end!! thank you all so much for reading and as always thanks to the beautiful [lila](http://ratchetlila.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing this and for making it what it is! it would be actually a complete mess without you, so thank you for everything! also thank you once more to [jess](http://socomicallygay.tumblr.com/) for the scintillating bird facts that enabled multiple penis jokes. 
> 
> hope you've enjoyed this as much as i have! again, i don't own anything or anyone. if you want to watch the ballet that louis and zayn perform, it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk8pee0ywKY)!

The day was not supposed to end like this. Louis should be balls-deep in Harry’s arse right now, and instead, he’s slumped on his living room floor in front of the TV, drinking straight from a bottle of wine for the second consecutive Monday.

This really has not been his week.

Louis flicks despondently through the channels, not really wanting to watch anything that’s on. After a few minutes, he realises that it’s an exercise in futility and switches it off.

He sits in silence for a few minutes and takes a few more swigs of wine. Louis is prolonging the inevitable, and he knows it. It’s been over a week since he’s called his mum--he just responded to her texts asking about his contract with a quick “ _still not worked out but ill explain later ! xx_ ” For a self-admitted mummy’s boy like Louis, this is nearly unprecedented.

The thing is, he doesn’t know where to start. Does he begin with _Hello, mum, my entire career has just been completely shot to hell_ or with _Hiya, mum, met this completely amazing boy and spent the weekend with him only to have him be incredibly weird in rehearsal and then find out that my artistic director has taken over my personal life as well as my career!_

Neither is particularly appealing, so Louis just stares at his phone for a while longer.

After a couple of minutes, it starts ringing, making Louis jump. Though he has long suspected his mother of being psychic, her name popping up on the screen makes Louis feel that he now has confirmation. He hesitantly presses answer.

“Hi, love,” Jay says cheerfully. “Realised we hadn’t talked in a while, and I was thinking of you. Everything alright, darling? How was your contract meeting?”

Louis takes a deep breath to answer and instead simply bursts into tears. He can hear his mum’s alarm as she tries to soothe him from the other end of the line, but he can’t seem to calm down.

Eventually Jay’s words and pleas for Louis to “come on, love, tell me what happened” break through, and he takes a few deep breaths to pull it together.

“Sorry, mum, didn’t mean to scare you,” Louis finally gets out. “How’re the girls? And Ernie?”

His mum clucks her tongue at him, clearly having none of it. “Don’t give me that, Louis, you can’t answer the phone in tears and then avoid giving me an answer. What’s been going on? We haven’t spoken in more than a week.”

Louis sniffles a couple more times. He hadn’t really expected to avoid the subject, but he had hoped to be able to postpone it a bit. “Um. Bit of a shit week, really.”

“Language,” Jay says automatically.

“Sorry. A crap week, then. No, it was a shit week. Once you hear what happened, I don’t think you’ll mind about language, mum.”

Louis’s mum makes a clearly sceptical noise, but once Louis has told her the whole story--glossing over the finer points of the spending-the-weekend-with-Harry bit, no mum really wants to hear about taking a bloke home from a bar--she’s called Simon an arsehole once, a fucking arsehole twice, and a twat three times. Louis really loves his mum.

“So that’s it, then?” she asks, once Louis has wrapped up his sad tale. “Did he officially give you a contract as a character artist?”

“Not yet,” Louis admits. “I have to go in and meet with him on Wednesday, his assistant said, between class and rehearsal. But I’m sure that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Then what are you going to do, darling? Are you going to take the contract?”

Isn’t that the question of the year. If only Louis knew what to do. If only he had the slightest fucking hope of getting a principal-track contract anywhere else. But if Louis is being pragmatic, once the other big three ballet companies in the UK realise that Simon Cowell doesn’t think that Louis Tomlinson is principal dancer material, he doesn’t have much of a hope of being offered a better contract elsewhere. He’d have to go to the U.S. to get a contract as a principal dancer, and he really doesn’t fancy being that far from home.

“Dunno, Mum,” he finally tells her. “We’ll see. I think I may have to take the contract for now, and hope for renegotiating later on. Maybe if I can persuade a few more guest choreographers to cast me in principal roles.”

“Or could you go dance for that bloke whose ballet you’re doing now? What’s his name, Jason Bourne?”

Louis finally is able to snort out a laugh. “No, Mum, that’s the movie with Matt Damon. It’s Matthew Bourne.”

“Him, then.”

“Er. Hadn’t really occurred to me, to be honest,” Louis admits. “His companies aren’t, like, traditional ballet.”

“Well, you’re far too good to not get to dance as a principal dancer, no matter what that twat Simon thinks,” Louis’s mum says, still indignant on his behalf.

Louis has the best mum. He sighs heavily anyway. “You have to say that. And really, I don’t know that I am. Like, I know that I’m a good dancer, but—Simon Cowell’s a genius, mum. If he thinks I’m better suited to character artist, he’s probably right.”

Louis’s mum doesn’t respond for a moment. “I still don’t like it,” she says eventually, and Louis can’t help laughing. “And who does he think he is, telling people who they can and can’t date?”

“Oh god, I don’t much like him either at the mo, but at least there’ll be some closure once I meet with him Wednesday,” Louis says. “Hopefully by then I’ll have some answers. Be able to, you know, plan the next few years of my life on a character artist budget.”

Jay sighs again, clearly still unhappy. “Well, is this show going to be a good one, then? Worth me coming down to see?”

“Yes, absolutely! It’s a really innovative production, and Harry, who’s staging it, is a genius. I’m loving the character that I’m dancing, mum, you and Lottie should definitely come down and use my comps--I’m pretty sure they’re for the second weekend--”

“It does sound like you have a lot of good things to say about this Harry,” Jay says, and Louis can hear the smile in her voice. “So, think waiting for six weeks will be doable?”

“If I can just get him to stop acting like a twat in rehearsal,” Louis says testily, and Jay squawks at the language. “Sorry, mum. If he keeps acting like he did today, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He was so clearly off and acted like he was afraid to touch me.”

“Well, baby, it’s good to hear that at least you’re enjoying your role,” Louis’s mum tells him, and he realises that she’s right. He is really enjoying this role, even with all of the absurd crap that’s come along with it. “And it sounds like you may have more than one thing to plan your life around--now that there’s this new boy in the picture.”

Louis smiles just a bit, hopeful that at least his mum won’t be quite as worried now that she knows he’s not _totally_ miserable. “Yeah, mum, I’m sure it’ll all work out,” he tells her, and he means it.

\--

It turns out that being happy about the Swan is a bit easier said than done, when Tuesday is about the most awkward day that Louis has ever experienced.

Like, it’s never exactly pleasant to walk into a room and realise that everyone’s been talking about you. It’s even less pleasant when it happens over and over throughout the entire day.

Everyone had probably doing this the day before, Louis knows, but he was too happy, too caught up in his little Harry-bubble to notice how oddly everyone (other than Zayn and Niall) were acting around him.

Thankfully, Louis had sent the lads a couple of quick texts the day before, letting them know what had happened with Harry, so he doesn’t have to tell them about it today. Still, not having Harry to distract him, Louis is spending an inordinate amount of time noticing how the people around him are all avoiding talking to him.

Even Yvonne is easier on him than normal in morning class, not admonishing him when he’s caught up in a cuddle with Zayn and mishears her completely, doing an _entrechat huit_ rather than an _entrechat neuf_ and landing on two feet instead of one. It’s downright creepy. Worse, none of the company members give him dirty looks for escaping punishment, as Louis would typically expect.

By the end of class, Louis has been on the receiving end of more sympathetic glances than he can handle. He darts out as quickly as possible, muttering to Zayn that he’ll meet him and Niall at Pret (their traditional Tuesday destination) as soon as he can.

Then even _Zayn_ gives Louis a sympathetic look. No one can be trusted.

Louis makes a beeline for his haven of a toilet, where for the second time within a week he has a bit of a cry. There is absolutely no universe in which Louis should be spending this amount of time crying in toilets.

This time, though, Harry doesn’t come in to comfort him. The realisation that he’s probably planning to avoid that toilet altogether--since that’s where Simon had overheard them--makes everything just a little bit worse. It also makes him feel a bit like he’s entered a crime scene.

Louis isn’t sure how he’s going to survive this.

But because he has to, Louis pulls himself together, splashes some water on his face, and heads for Pret to meet Niall and Zayn. There’s nothing else to do, really.

When he gets there, Louis orders the cream of chicken soup and gets them to put extra cheese on top, because if ever there was a day to break his diet, surely it is today. Once he’s obtained his food, he flops down at the table with the lads, saying cheerfully, “Well, boys, time to brainstorm. What career paths are available for a washed-up dancer?”

Zayn looks at him mournfully, like Louis has just personally killed his cat. Louis would like to know who the fuck taught Zayn how to look like that, then travel back in time and stab them.

Niall, thankfully, just laughs. “You can be my assistant,” he offers.

“Cheers, Niall, thank you for _actually being helpful_ ,” Louis says, shooting daggers at Zayn through his eyes.

Zayn settles into a pout. “You’re not allowed to leave me, Lou,” he says, and his eyes are so wide Louis would swear they’ve been surgically enhanced if he hadn’t met multiple members of Zayn’s family and seen their genetic origin for himself.

Instead of telling him this, Louis just flicks at his arm. “C’mon, Zayn, all dancers stop dancing eventually. I’m not saying I’ll quit tomorrow, just that when Simon offers me that character artist contract, I want to have at least begun thinking about what my other options are.”

Biting his lip, Zayn stands quickly and moves toward the toilet, locking the door behind him before Louis can even process what happened. He turns to Niall to ask, “What was that about?”

Niall rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his massive sandwich. “Come off it, Lou, you have to know how guilty he feels about all of this.”

Louis feels the beginnings of a knot forming in his stomach. “So, what? I can’t be happy for Zayn for becoming a principal dancer and still be upset for myself that I’ve been relegated to character artist?”

“Sure you can,” Niall shrugs, “but I don’t think that Zayn’s happy for himself yet. Instead he just feels like shit all over.” Louis doesn’t respond, so Niall continues, “Louis, how would you feel if your positions were reversed? I know you’ve congratulated him and all, but Zayn’s your best friend. Of course he’s going to feel badly about this.”

Louis stares at Niall a minute longer, wondering when Niall became the wisest person that Louis knows. Niall stares right back at him, takes another bite, and then motions in the direction of the toilet.

There’s a clear directive there, and Louis has gotten into enough arguments with Niall to know that he rarely wins one without Niall making him feel like shit. So he stands up and walks over to the toilet, knocking on the door and feeling like an utter prat.

“Uh… Zayn?” Louis says hesitantly through the door, casting his eyes around the shop and hoping no one stares at him too much. “Will you come out of there so we can talk?”

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Zayn sniffles, and no, that is just _unacceptable_ , Zayn absolutely cannot be crying because of Louis. “I just ruined your career.”

Louis sighs heavily. “No, Simon Cowell just derailed my career. You narcissistic twat, not everything is about you.”

That, at least, manages to elicit a giggle from Zayn, which Louis finds promising, so he continues. “Look, obviously I’m chuffed for you, mate. We’ve been working for principal dancers forever, and both of us knew from the beginning how few people ever make it to that level. I’m honestly just glad one of us did,” he says, and realises while he’s saying it how true that is.

Of the thirty people who entered the corps with Louis and Zayn when they were eighteen, five are still with the company today, and three of them are only demi-soloists who aren’t likely to make it much further. There are maybe three or four others still dancing professionally, just not with the ENB. Louis and Zayn both know how random and difficult dancing is. Not everyone makes it. They’ve made it the furthest of almost anyone that they know.

Louis bangs on the door again, hoping to end the sentimental moment. “Will you come out of the fucking toilet already, Zayn? You’re making me look a right idiot.”

Zayn’s huff is audible even through the fairly thick wooden door. Louis would be impressed if he didn’t know for a fact that Zayn has specifically calibrated his huffs to make sure that he’s heard at all times. “Lou, now my eyes are all red,” he whines.

“It’s your own fault,” Louis says unsympathetically. “Next time don’t feel guilty about things. Now shape up and come eat your lunch before Niall eats it for you.” 

He returns to the table confident that Zayn will follow behind him shortly, and sure enough, he trails behind a moment later. As predicted, Niall has eaten most of Zayn’s crisps, but he hadn’t gotten started on the salad that Zayn inexplicably ordered to go with the crisps. Zayn shrugs, clearly realising that it could have been worse.

“Now, you cunts,” Niall says after swallowing, “everything worked out, then? No more jealousy, no more guilt?”

Louis and Zayn turn to each other, and Louis can see that there’s still some hesitancy in Zayn’s eyes. He suspects it’s mirrored in his own. Louis smiles anyway and throws an arm around Zayn’s neck. “Well, I was never jealous in the first place, it’s all this prat’s fault for being an idiot.”

As he might have expected, Zayn shoves his arm off and buries his fingers into Louis’s sides to tickle him. Louis starts shrieking at the top of his lungs, and Niall thankfully has the presence of mind to start scooping all of the food left on the table into a sack before they’re asked to leave the restaurant.

At least one thing is back to normal.

\--

After the fifth time that Harry reaches out to touch Louis, then freezes and gives him verbal instructions instead, Louis is ready to fucking kill someone. Especially since he knows exactly whom he should blame.

Simon is sitting in on rehearsal. It’s a totally normal, completely justifiable thing for an artistic director to do, and on most days, Louis wouldn’t think twice about his presence.

Today is _not_ a normal day. So now Louis gets to try to show the regal beauty of a swan while contemplating the fact that his artistic director found his nascent relationship with the guest choreographer threatening enough to stop it before it even started.

It’s not exactly an ideal situation, especially when Louis is supposed to be projecting composure.

Thank god, Louis is only scheduled to be at rehearsal for the first hour and a half before they move on to scenes he’s not in. Meaning that he only has to get through twenty more minutes of maudlin glances from Harry before he gets the fuck out of this studio.

On the other hand, Louis has to get through twenty more minutes of this bullshit, and he’s honestly not sure that he can do it. Harry keeps sending him these _awful_ looks with big puppy-dog eyes, like he’s begging Louis to do something.

Louis’s not proud that looking at Harry is mostly making him angry, just now. Not at Harry, exactly--though he’d be lying to say he wasn’t angry at Harry at all, since he keeps looking at Louis like he expects something when they both know good and well there’s nothing for Louis to do. No, he’s _frustrated_ with Harry, but looking at how sad Harry seems makes Louis want to punch Simon.

Not exactly a positive frame of mind to have about your boss.

Louis can’t think about this. There lies madness, and frankly Louis is already a bit too close to the edge to want to get any closer.

Instead, he forces himself to turn his eyes to the corner, where he instantly smiles upon seeing Perrie. She’s ostensibly early for her call time, since Harry will start on her scene as soon as Louis leaves. It looks like Perrie came in intending to stretch, but she clearly got distracted in gazing at Zayn.

So. There’s hope for some. And Jesus, if even Zayn and Perrie can’t make Louis stop feeling bitter, he’s got a real problem.

Louis shakes himself once he realises that Harry’s saying his name. “Yes, sorry?”

Harry smiles slightly. “Er. I’m done working with Zayn for now, so shall we try the bit of Act II that we’re done with for Simon to see? Then, Swans, you’ll all be free to go,” he says, turning to include the male corps dancers milling around the room.

Louis starts moving off to the edge of the studio before Harry even finishes his sentence, more than ready for this interminable torture to end. 

Also, to be fair, he loves the part of Act II which they’ve done so far. The Prince’s descent into madness has begun then, and he goes to a public park with the intent of committing suicide. As the rehearsal pianist begins to play, Louis is struck again by how _right_ Harry really was with the casting. Zayn gives the Prince’s turmoil depth and a sense of franticness, making the character far more vulnerable than Louis ever could.

And-- _there_. Louis is ready for his cue to enter, and runs on for the first encounter with the Prince. This is one of the parts where the _physicality_ of the Swan is so much fun, because he’s just teasing the Prince, dancing around him but never letting him get too close. It’s a core part of Louis and Zayn’s relationship as well, so Louis quite enjoys getting to tease Zayn without anyone being able to yell at him.

It’s the sharpness of these movements that Louis is still having some trouble with, since they’re so different from the smooth ones required from most ballets. The Swan here is graceful but also very much on the move, keeping well away from the Prince with lots of deep _pliés_ and _arabesques_ and arms slicing through the air.

He can hear Harry muttering about one of the _arabesques_ , but on the whole, Louis can feel that he’s nailing it. He gets a bit of a breather when his entrance section ends, and the corps of male swans come out and dance. Louis and Zayn huddle off to the side while the corps makes Louis briefly nostalgic for his own days there. “Was I down soon enough, for when you jump over me?” Zayn asks worriedly.

“Yes, you’re fine,” Louis whispers, focused on the dancing in front of him.

“Harry was staring at your arse, so I doubt I’m getting any notes from him.”

Louis slaps at Zayn half-heartedly. “Stare less at Harry and more at my arse, and you’ll be more in the Prince’s mindset.” With that, he leaps back onto the stage, ready to finish the bit that they’ve learned. 

Zayn chases Louis around the stage for another thirty seconds or so before they exit again. Even just glancing and without knowing the choreography himself, Louis can tell that the corps of swans that takes the stage after him isn’t synchronized enough yet. Their arms in particular are a bit of a disaster.

Sure enough, Harry gestures to the rehearsal pianist and stops them mid-leap. “Louis, you’re free to go, thank you for your work today,” he says shortly, barely glancing in Louis’s direction. “Now, gentlemen, I want you to watch Ashton closely. He’s in the front for a reason, everyone.”

Somewhat surprised at the speed of his dismissal, Louis moves slowly over to the corner where Perrie’s sitting to grab his own bag. She touches his calf lightly, gesturing for him to sit down.

“So how’s it going today?” Perrie asks in a low voice, glancing surreptitiously at Simon. “Has Simon been giving notes?”

“Nah, not really,” Louis whispers back. “Just sitting there to intimidate me, I think.”

“Oof, yeah, I heard about that,” Perrie says sympathetically. “I think it’s shite. He’s already enough like an evil dictator, he doesn’t need to start controlling our personal lives as well.”

Louis shrugs. “I agree, but what are you going to do? He holds all of our fates in his hands.”

“We should rebel,” Perrie whispers excitedly. “Start our own company.”

This manages to draw a small giggle from Louis that he stifles quickly--but not quickly enough to avoid a sharp look from Simon. “As soon as you get the investors, love, I’m there. Just let me know.” Perrie just winks, and Louis ends up leaving the rehearsal studio feeling at least a bit better than he’d expected to. 

Maybe the sympathetic looks that had been killing him all day had at least as much to do with the Harry thing as the casting, Louis mused. It’s impossible to keep a secret in a ballet company, so Louis has been assuming that everyone knew about him and Harry--but it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that anyone else would think Simon’s pronouncement was unfair. Louis doesn’t have too many friends in the company (largely a side effect of how quickly he’s risen within it), but he knows that people don’t actively dislike him. At the least, maybe they’re worried Simon will interfere in their own love lives next.

For almost a full second, Louis contemplates going to Niall and actually doing his back exercises, before deciding instead to just pull on some trackies and take the tube home. He has lived through his first rehearsal with a Harry he’s not allowed to touch, and it didn’t kill him. 

Today, that feels like an accomplishment in and of itself.

\--

Louis pauses before walking down the corridor that holds Simon’s office. He still isn’t entirely sure what he’s going to say.

Zayn had his own contract meeting with Simon this morning before rehearsal, and as predicted, received a principal dancer contract. Louis is trying so, so hard to remain happy for him. Like, of course he’s happy for him, Zayn is his best mate. They’ve been through everything together.

But there’s still a small part of Louis--and it’s not one that he’s proud of--that looks suspiciously like a green-eyed monster and insistently shouts that _Louis_ should be the one with a principal dancer contract, not Zayn. That Zayn only got it because he’s _pretty_ and _exotic_ and because Simon wanted to put him on billboards.

It’s not exactly a part of himself that Louis wants to go into this meeting listening to. He takes a few deep breaths and reminds himself, _Zayn is one of the most talented dancers that you know. Zayn has danced as many principal parts as you have. Zayn is your best friend, pull it the fuck together._

It’ll do for now. Louis takes one more fortifying breath and walks down the corridor, rapping sharply on Simon’s door before entering without waiting for permission.

“Hello, Louis,” Simon says pleasantly, but Louis catches him glancing at Louis’s attire. This time, Louis didn’t bother to change into Confidence Clothes. They were probably cursed, anyway, so Louis is just wearing his tights and a tshirt. He knows how much Simon hates it when dancers don’t dress for their appointments with him, which is exactly why he did it.

“Hi, Simon.” Louis sits back in the chair and looks expectantly at Simon, not continuing further. He’s not planning to make this easy for him.

Simon shifts a few papers around on the desk. “How are you doing, Louis? Rehearsals are going well, from what I saw yesterday.”

“Yes,” Louis agrees, but doesn’t continue.

After realising that Louis doesn’t plan to say anything else, Simon clears his throat and says, “Well, I suppose you’re wanting to get down to business, then?”

“Ready when you are,” Louis tells him. He knows that he’s skirting the line of confrontational in a way that probably isn’t wise, but between fucking him over on the contract and interfering with his personal life, Louis is feeling provoked.

“Right,” Simon says slowly. He looks a bit uncomfortable, and Louis feels triumphant. “So, Louis, I value you very much as a dancer. I think you’ve brought tremendous things to this company, and I want you to stay with us for as long as you are dancing.”

Simon pauses, presumably for Louis to say something about how much he loves the company as well. Instead Louis tilts his head slightly and blinks.

“Er. So. Based off all of that, I want to offer you a promotion to character artist. It’s a pay rise over first soloist, and includes a provision that we tell you a year of time if we aren’t planning on renewing your contract for the following season,” Simon continues through the awkwardness. “I know that you had been hoping to become a principal dancer, but seeing you as the Swan has really convinced me that your talents lie in creating these sorts of unique characters, not in traditional principal roles.”

Louis sits for a moment. The hell of it is, he thinks that Simon might be right. Even as early into rehearsals as they are, Louis can tell that he’s connecting with the Swan in a way that he never did with, for instance, the Sugar Plum Cavalier in _The Nutcracker_. Louis had danced that role the previous winter and had been bored to tears.

“Louis?” Simon prompts. “Do you have any questions?”

“Can I see the contract?” Louis asks. Simon nods and hands it over to him.

Louis flips through the pages like he’s just looking casually, but he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once he’s found it, he looks back up at Simon. “There’s no provision for taking a leave of absence as a guest artist in here.”

Simon looks surprised, perhaps because this isn’t what he expected Louis to focus on. It’s actually not what Louis himself had expected to focus on, but bygones. “Well, guest artist contracts are much more common for principal dancers--”

“Come off it, Simon,” Louis interrupts. “Six of the last ten guest artists we’ve taken on have been to fill character artist roles, because we haven’t had one in the company for the last five years. Character artists are in high demand as guest artists, and if I’m going to be classified as a character artist, I have to be able to advance my career in that area.”

Nodding slowly, Simon says, “That’s certainly understandable, and probably a place we would be able to negotiate.”

“I’m thinking a leave of absence for an entire season once every four years with the provision that I can take shorter contracts elsewhere if there’s no role for me in a given ENB production,” Louis tells him.

At this point Simon is clearly shocked. Louis feels a warm glow starting to build within him. It’s rare to throw Simon off his game. “That’s--well, I think that’s the standard provision for our principal dancers.”

“Yes, that’s why I think it would be fair.”

Simon clears his throat uncomfortably. “Well, I’ll certainly--I can talk it over with our legal advisor before you sign anything.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Louis says with a grin. “I’ve another question, if you’re ready.”

“Go ahead,” Simon says, resignation apparent in his voice.

Louis’s smile broadens. “I’d like there to be a provision for me teaching either our apprentice company or some students at the English National Ballet School for at least one afternoon a week. Since character artists are in fewer scenes, it’s unlikely that I’ll be called for rehearsal every day in a given week except for when we’re in dress rehearsals.”

This time, Simon leans back in his chair. “Louis, you know we’re not formally affiliated with the school anymore.”

“Yes, and I know that their school director still asks you before making any hiring decisions,” Louis says pleasantly. “Really, Simon, dancing doesn’t last forever. I’ve got to start planning for another career eventually.”

“And you think you’d like to go into teaching?”

“Well, I think that eventually I’m going to kill Yvonne and take over as ballet master, but you have to start somewhere,” Louis says.

After a moment of horrified silence, Simon finally laughs, much to Louis’s relief. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“A menace who’s a major asset to your company,” Louis reminds him.

“Fine, fine. I’ll call the school director and see if she’s gone temporarily insane and wants to take on a spectacularly combative dancer without any teaching experience,” Simon sighs.

Louis winks. “I went to the school. I think she probably will.”

“I think she probably will too, more’s the pity,” says Simon. “Alright, then, are you through with provisions on your contract? Does this mean you’ll take it?”

“Once you’ve talked to the legal advisor and made the requested changes, I’ll be happy to,” Louis tells him, and is surprised to find that he means it. Character artist isn’t something that he’s ever planned to do, but he’s gaining more freedom from it, so that’s something. Ten years from now when Zayn has to start finding a new career and hasn’t already been training to become an instructor, perhaps Louis will be grateful to Simon.

Simon stands up and reaches over the table to shake Louis’s hand. “It really is a pleasure to work with you, Louis. I’m glad you’ll be staying with us.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Louis says. “Though if you ever interfere in my personal life again, I will have no issue breaking contract to quit and do a tell-all interview with the _Guardian_ calling you a homophobic bastard who attempts to control only the lives of his gay dancers. Cheers!” he adds before turning and closing the door smartly behind him.

Louis walks calmly down the corridor as though nothing had happened before breaking into a run once he’s out of Simon’s sight. He bounds, exhilarated, to the physical therapy room, where he bursts into the room without pausing to see who’s in there and shouts, “Niall, I’m a legend!”

He stops suddenly, seeing that Harry is spread out on the massage table, with Niall straddling his thighs to massage his back. Louis _knows_ that Niall is both a licensed massage therapist and straight, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to punch him a little. Especially since Harry’s eyes fly open when Louis walks into the room, and he’s giving Louis that _fucking_ puppy-dog look again. The madness has to stop.

Niall can clearly sense Louis’s latent violent tendencies, since he hastily clambers off Harry and moves over to force Louis to respond to his fist bump. “Why are you a legend, then, Tommo?”

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry’s. “Because, Nialler, I just negotiated with Simon Cowell and _came out a winner_.”

Gasping, Niall pulls Louis into a tight hug. “You fucking cuntrocket, for once you’re actually a legend! Brilliant!” he shouts directly into Louis’s ear.

Louis winces and pulls back a bit to hold Niall’s face between his hands. “Niall, I think I just tricked Simon into giving me a character artist contract with more perks than a principal dancer contract. This calls for pints. Immediate pints.”

Niall claps Louis’s back, _right_ where he knows it hurts the most, the bastard. “It certainly does. It’s even four-thirty, so it’s a completely acceptable time to skive off work anyway. Harry? Coming to join us?”

Louis has been rather pointedly avoiding looking at Harry, but god, if this is going to work, Niall’s right, Harry should come. In the spirit of friendship, Louis turns towards Harry and nods encouragingly.

Harry just stares down awkwardly at his feet. “Er. Probably shouldn’t, really.” He’s giving Louis the mother _fucking_ sad eyes again, and Louis loses it a bit.

Before he’s made a conscious decision to do so, Louis marches over to Harry and claps a hand down on his shoulder, forcing direct eye contact. “Harry,” he says firmly, “we are not going to act like this for the next six weeks. I won’t allow it.”

“Thank god!” Niall cheers behind him.

“We’re not having sex for the next six weeks,” Louis continues, ignoring his one-man Greek chorus, “but for the love of Christ, stop looking at me like an injured animal. ‘S not anything I’ve done, or you’ve done, and I don’t know how many more rehearsals I can take of you staring at me like I’ve just run over your dog. We’re going to be friends and it’s not going to be weird. It’s not.”

Somewhere during his impromptu speech, Harry started smiling a bit. “So you’ve already decided, then? What if Simon gets the wrong idea?”

Louis scoffs. “Considering that I just told Simon that I’d sell a tell-all interview to the _Guardian_ accusing him of homophobia if he tried to interfere in my personal life again, I don’t think he’s likely to say anything as long as we’re not actually a couple.”

Harry and Niall both stare at Louis in silent horror. “You didn’t,” Niall breathes.

Louis grins. “I absolutely did.”

Niall breaks into raucous laughter so overwhelming that Louis is actually concerned that he might stop breathing. “He’s never going to recover!” Niall manages to choke out.

“I think he’ll be just fine,” Louis says, staring at Harry.

Finally, Harry smiles back at Louis. “Well, then, Niall’s right. That absolutely calls for pints. Should we find Zayn, lads?”

Niall cheers again and throws his arms around both of them. Louis feels utterly, perfectly triumphant.

\--

So, friends. It’s a thing.

Louis is an _excellent_ friend. Always watching out for Harry. And Harry does the same for him.

Frequently in the sense that they can’t really take their eyes off one another, but, like, semantics. It’s the thought that counts, Louis is pretty sure.

Rehearsals thankfully are no longer quite as awkward as they were those first couple of days after Simon’s pronouncement. Louis is actually having the time of his life in a lot of ways; he loves dancing the Swan in a way that he’s never fully loved a role before. He feels like he gets the Swan. Like this was the role that he was meant to play.

On the other hand, he’s also horny as fuck.

There have been multiple occasions where Harry has stepped in to cover Zayn’s part while he’s in a fitting or something (bloody Zayn, the costumers _absolutely_ take more time than necessary with him), and every time Louis has genuinely thought that he was going to explode. Dancing an erotic homosexual love story with someone with whom you have been expressly forbidden from having an erotic homosexual love story is just cruel.

So, like, fine. Louis is doing fine. He’s absolutely not jealous whenever Harry spends too much time talking to any man who isn’t him. Louis certainly hasn’t started wanking semi-regularly to the thought of getting to fuck Harry again. He definitely has never been uncomfortably aroused after Harry touches him too many times in rehearsal and had to deal with an erection in the toilets.

Louis is happy. He keeps telling himself that.

He doesn’t have time to be in a relationship right now, anyway. If he was allowed to have sex with Harry, they’d be doing that all of the time, and Louis would be criminally under rested for all rehearsals.

It isn’t helping that Louis is usually telling himself this around three in the morning when he’s wanking and imagining that he’s going to get to come on Harry’s face, but you can’t have it all.

Louis is almost definitely going to make it through this rehearsal period a better, stronger person.

Almost definitely. It’s only a few weeks. A few very, very long weeks.

\--

The thing about Louis is that he doesn’t get stage fright. He just doesn’t. Performing is _exciting_ for him, not something that he has to worry about.

Sure, he gets a little nervous before an opening performance, but it’s more about what the reviewers will say than his own actual performance. Louis is a perfectionist, and he knows that by the time he steps onto a stage, he’s as good as he’s ever going to be.

If only that were the case for everyone else around him.

As long as Louis and Zayn have been friends, Louis has watched Zayn’s nerves. Zayn does get stage fright, to the point where he’s sometimes hyperventilating just moments before going onstage. They have a good calming routine down, where Louis holds tights on Zayn’s arms and chants _you’ll be great, you’ll be great, it’ll all be over soon_ over and over until Zayn can come to believe it.

So even though Louis doesn’t get nerves himself, he understands stage fright. It’s a phenomenon that he’s familiar with.

When he sees Harry running to the loo with his hand over his mouth a few hours before opening night, though, Louis has to reevaluate that statement. Louis is pretty familiar with stage fright, but he doesn’t actually know anyone who _vomits_ from it.

A bit hesitantly, Louis follows after Harry and knocks lightly on the stall door. “Haz? How--er. I was going to ask if you were alright, but I guess it’s pretty apparent that you’re not. Anything I can do?”

Harry unlocks the door to the stall after a moment and emerges, face pale and a bit sweaty. “Think ‘m sick, Lou. Don’t think I can stay for the performance.”

He’s so clearly pitiful that Louis doesn’t even think of the very recent vomiting before wrapping his arms firmly around him. “There, there, love,” Louis says, rubbing his back soothingly. “Got some nerves about tonight? I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you’re not actually the one who’s going out there.”

“It’s even _worse_ ,” Harry whines. “I have to sit in the audience with everyone and watch if they liked it or not, and then everyone’s going to hate it and me and Matthew is going to lose all faith in me and I’ll never choreograph anything ever again because I’ll have fucked up everything.”

Louis just continues rubbing Harry’s back. “Is that all, love? Worried about anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Just wanted to be clear before I started telling you why you shouldn’t worry, darling,” Louis says, which seems to mollify Harry. “First of all, are you trying to tell me I’m going to be shite? Bit rude, really.”

Harry’s head flies up from Louis’s chest. “No! Not at all! You and Zayn are both brilliant!”

“I know,” Louis says smugly, “which is why you don’t need to worry about that. And the staging is really relatively minor changes, yeah? To work with the dancers and the set? You didn’t say ‘fuck it’ and throw an entire scene out the window, did you?”

“No,” Harry sulks. “But I could have misinterpreted which things I could change and which should stay the same--”

Louis places a hand over Harry’s mouth and ignores his muffled protests. “You didn’t. Matthew Bourne--I’m assuming that’s who you meant by Matthew?--is going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it. The first three performances are already sold out, and ticket sales are all that Simon really cares about, so he’ll love it.”

“What if the reviewers don’t?” Harry mumbles plaintively. At least, Louis’s pretty sure that’s what he was trying to say. He’s still got a good grip over Harry’s mouth.

“They’ve enjoyed every production of Bourne’s so far, and they’re going to be enthusiastic about seeing a traditional ballet company taking a risk and staging one of his ballets,” Louis tells him. “You know it’s true. Nod if you agree.”

Harry nods slowly, and Louis removes his hand. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, as if worried that Louis will once again rescind his ability to speak.

“Hey,” Louis says softly, tilting Harry’s chin up to force eye contact. “Any better?”

“A bit,” Harry admits.

“Want to know the best thing about tonight being opening night?” 

“Er. It’s over and we don’t have to anticipate reviews anymore?”

Louis swats at Harry’s arm. “Dream bigger, darling. Once it’s opening night, you’re no longer officially on staff of the English National Ballet.”

Harry finally starts to smile. “I heard that might be true.”

“Meaning Simon doesn’t get to tell us what to do anymore,” Louis says, tracing a pattern over Harry’s forearm.

“Meaning we get to have really, really stupendous sex?” Harry murmurs, voice growing lower. That’s just unfair.

“Are you calling me easy, love?” Louis asks, full of faux indignation.

Harry’s smile grows wider. “I dearly hope so,” he says. 

Louis can’t even really argue about it. First of all, it’s true; and second, it seems to have cheered Harry up. “Well, then, if I were you, I’d get my priorities straight. Less stage fright, more anticipation for what comes after.”

Harry’s gulp is visible, and Louis is slightly alarmed when it turns into a bit of a predatory smile. “I’ll certainly be anticipating,” he says.

“Right,” Louis stutters, wondering when he lost the upper hand. “Well, if you’re feeling better, then, I’ll be on my way. Hope you’ve got an extra toothbrush, though, love, don’t really fancy snogging you with vomit on your breath.”

“Got all my toiletries here!” Harry calls after him as Louis exits the toilet. If Louis was ever going to have any nerves before this performance, he isn’t bloody likely to now. The only thing he’s got to worry about is whether he’ll be sporting an unfortunate erection.

\--

After the first performance ends, Louis runs offstage from his bows knowing that he _nailed_ it. He can’t remember ever quite feeling this way about a performance before--that certainty that he’d done absolutely everything right. Even if the reviewers disagree (they won’t, he can feel it in his bones), Louis knows that he was perfect.

With that feeling comes a certain energy, one that’s got Louis a bit concerned. He feels like jumping off the walls, like he could run a marathon, like--

Well, more than anything, Louis feels like having frantic, really _rough_ sex where he gets to fuck into someone for ages and leave some bruises behind.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Louis would love nothing more right now than to go to a club and find someone to take this energy out on. Like, ideally Harry, but he’s not asking for the moon, here.

But. It’s opening night. And Louis is one of the production’s stars. So he’s obligated to go to the opening night gala and mingle with the prominent donors and other company members… and, of course, Harry. Louis will probably even have to spend a significant time near Harry; when he’s had principal roles before there was a lot of dragging him around with the choreographer to meet important people.

So, excellent. Louis is a little aroused just from thinking about frantic sex already, and now he has to go be in a room with Harry and people who, essentially, pay his salary. Without a public erection.

With a sigh, Louis pushes into the dressing room, where he’s met with a chorus of voices telling him how great he was. Louis accepts gratefully and gracefully, telling all of the company members in return how excellent they were, as well. It’s true, really--the entire production was a success, top to bottom. Simon will definitely be pleased.

After a quick shower, Louis takes the time to change into a full tuxedo. He doesn’t wear it often, but he purchased one in his first year with the company, when Simon explained to all of the corps dancers what a worthwhile investment it was. And it really has been--Louis would hate having to hire a tuxedo every time they have an opening night. Hair freshly dried with just enough product in to make it look effortless, Louis is ready to schmooze.

Just in time, too, since Zayn appears behind him in the mirror and, before Louis can guard himself, pokes Louis just above each of his hips and makes him jump at least six inches. “Ready yet, beauty queen?” Zayn teases.

“I think you’ll find you’re the one they gave the role of actual stuck-up royalty to,” Louis replies primly, but turns to leave with him anyway.

They move out of the backstage area, ribbing one another good-naturedly. Zayn stops abruptly at the base of the escalator and pulls Louis to the side, surprising him.

“Hey,” Zayn says earnestly, turning Louis to look at him. “You were incredible tonight, y’know? I feel lucky to get to dance with you.”

Louis is so deeply, genuinely touched that he can’t move for a moment. Then he pulls Zayn into a rough hug. “God, you too. You’re so fucking talented, if you weren’t my best friend in the world I’d absolutely hate you.”

They stay in the hug for a moment, both a bit overwhelmed with all of the after-show energy, before suddenly another set of arms is wrapped around them. “Wa-hey, lads! Couldn’t wait for me for the group hug?” Niall shouts into their ears.

Louis winces. Both he and Zayn try to shove Niall off, but he just pulls them closer. “You’re both bloody talented, you know that? Watching the ballet I could almost forget that you’re just these two wankers who mostly only care about where their next bottle of wine is coming from.”

At that, Zayn finally manages to shake himself from Niall’s grasp. “You are manhandling the very talent that you are paid to protect,” he informs Niall haughtily.

Niall clearly remains unimpressed, since he flicks Zayn’s forehead. “Malik, you’re just proving my point. Now, I can’t believe you two aren’t already up there drinking, I’m ashamed to know you. To the party, lads!”

Laughing their way up the escalator, Louis feels like some of his nervous energy is starting to subside. Having his boys with him is definitely helping with all of that. He’s starting to feel like he’ll make it through the night.

That is, until they reach the top of the escalator, and he sees Harry.

Harry is just-- _unfair_. He’s not wearing the stupid headband that he wears to rehearsal every day, but he has his hair slicked back a bit in a way that just further emphasizes the beauty of his face. Harry’s tuxedo fits him like a glove, and for literally no imaginable reason, he is wearing a pink cummerbund that somehow manages to bring out the green in his eyes.

Louis hates everything in the world that has brought him to this moment. Especially once he manages to look away from Harry’s midsection (so maybe he was staring at his crotch, _whatever_ ) and sees that a tall, older man has his hand on Harry’s shoulder. In a very familiar fashion. A fashion that makes Louis feel a bit like punching someone.

Niall and Zayn, bless them, remain cheerfully oblivious, and so Louis has a reason to let himself be steered over to a group of company members to congratulate one another. He notices gleefully that Zayn and Perrie are standing very close to one another without _quite_ touching. At this rate, they might actually get together in less than five years. Niall will have to start a pool.

So Louis is doing a _fantastic_ job distracting himself, thank you very much, until he feels a hand on his own shoulder. He turns reluctantly, fairly sure that he already knows who it is.

It’s Harry. Of course, it’s Harry. He looks--weirdly happy, like he’s trying to conceal a broad smile. Not quite the expression that Louis was expecting.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says rather formally, “I’m so pleased to introduce you to my mentor and boss, Matthew Bourne.”

And--oh. Louis feels like a bit of an idiot. He also might be going into shock. Louis manages to reach out almost blindly to shake the hand that’s being offered to him, only able to notice the man’s square-rim glasses and slight quiff.

“Louis!” Matthew Fucking Bourne says warmly. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Let me just say, I thought that Harry here must have been talking you up, but after seeing your performance tonight, I’m happy to say nothing he told me was exaggerated. What a wonderful performance.”

“Er--thank you,” Louis gets out. Matthew Bourne is in front of him and complimenting him, what even is happening right now? “I’m--I’m a huge fan of all of your work. Huge. Loved the new production of _Sleeping Beauty_.”

Bourne beams at him. “Louis, that means a lot to me. You’re one of the best interpreters of my work that I’ve ever had the fortune to see perform--and I make a point of seeing every production of my ballets,” he says with a wink.

Louis thinks his heart might have stopped. “It’s been an incredible experience, Mr Bourne. Getting to dance the Swan--it’s the best role I’ve ever played. I wish I could do it for longer than two weeks.”

Disconcertingly, Bourne winks again before clasping Louis’s hand in both of his own. “I certainly hope you can, Louis. I really do. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve gotten your mobile number from Harry. I plan to be in touch with you very soon--expect a call in the next few days.” With that, he shakes Louis’s hand once more and disappears into the crowd with a smile.

“What in the _world_ ,” Louis murmurs, clasping onto Harry’s arm without even thinking about it. He feels as if he’s going to faint, and that has to take priority over anything Simon might still have to say.

Once he glances at Harry, though, it’s pretty apparent that he’s not concerned about Louis hanging off of him. Harry is positively _beaming_ at him. “ _Lou_ ,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’ve been hearing for a while that Matthew was thinking of doing another sit-down production of _Swan Lake_ in London next year, using this to sort of gauge interest for it. Since we’ve sold out all of our shows, he must be moving forward with it. Louis, _I think he’s going to ask you to play the Swan permanently!_ ”

This has to be a dream. Matthew Bourne wanting to hire him, Harry standing this close to him--none of this can possibly be real. “Harry,” Louis wonders out loud, “am I dreaming right now? Pinch me, love.”

Harry frowns at him, but pinches Louis directly on the bum. This is evidently not a dream. Louis feels like shouting from the rooftops. Any sense of calm that has descended since the show ended has left entirely.

“Harry,” Louis says slowly, reaching out to graze his hand, “you’re not the choreographer anymore.”

“No,” he agrees, “I’m not.”

They stare at each other, wide eyes and increasingly fast breaths saying what they can’t out loud.

“Follow me to the dressing room in five minutes?” Louis finally murmurs.

“Love to,” Harry whispers back, and it looks like his grin will split his face in two. Louis suspects his own face probably looks the same way.

It's almost physically painful to leave Harry behind, but Louis does manage after a moment. He risks pinching Harry's bum as he sidles past him, and is gratified to hear a small squeal behind him. 

Louis is so, so glad that he got to be the first one to leave, because he's not sure that he would have been able to stay at the party for five more minutes, knowing that Harry was waiting for him. As it is, he makes a beeline for the dressing room, ignoring the curious looks of the ushers that he moves past. 

Once he gets there, Louis isn’t totally sure what to do. He mentally curses himself for being professional enough not to want to get off with Harry in the toilets immediately next to the reception, since now he has to wait for Harry to actually arrive.

On the other hand. Louis’s six-week period of sexual frustration is finally about to come to an end. If he’s waited six weeks, surely he can wait a few more minutes.

With that in mind, Louis decides that the best way to keep himself occupied is to begin undressing. Louis is pretty clear (he hopes) on what’s about to happen, here, and he would really prefer not to have any come on his tuxedo trousers when he has to go back out to the party. He strips down, folding his clothes neatly on the counter and then seating himself on it. 

Louis is completely naked and lazily stroking his cock when Harry finally, _finally_ bursts through the door a few minutes later. Harry looks a bit wild-eyed, like he was afraid Louis might not be in the dressing room after all. It makes Louis’s heart hurt a bit. And also his dick.

“Lou,” Harry gasps, and that’s all he manages to get out before Louis crosses the room and pulls Harry into a kiss.

This is no time for a gentle, loving kiss. Louis and Harry fight for dominance of it, teeth clanking together as they fuck into one another’s mouths with their tongues. It’s rough, and more than a bit dirty, and Louis can’t remember ever feeling happier.

After a moment Louis realises dimly that he’s got his back digging into the counter again, without having noticed that they’d moved across the room. It’s clear that this is all part of Harry’s agenda, since, with their mouths still locked, Harry manages to get his hands under Louis’s arse to _pick him up_ and set him onto the counter.

“Jesus,” Louis moans, “had no idea--god, Haz, how’re you so strong--”

Harry pulls back a bit and looks at Louis with a bit of a laugh in his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can lift girls up above his head here, Tomlinson.” Before Louis can respond, Harry, in a stunning display of being far ahead of Louis, drops to his knees and licks a stripe up Louis’s cock.

Louis arches his back and whines, hands curling into Harry’s hair almost involuntarily. He sinks into the feeling, letting out soft whimpers as Harry kisses around the head, before a thought occurs to him. “Haz, babes, your back. You shouldn’t be down there.”

Harry just looks up at Louis through his eyelashes and sinks down slowly, taking Louis into his mouth. Louis is fairly sure he was trying to make a point, but Harry has certainly found an effective way to get him to shut up. “Hazza, sweetheart,” Louis tries again weakly before having to clutch at the counter when Harry moves back up a bit and presses his tongue into Louis’s slit.

Sliding off with a bit of a pop, Harry mutters mutinously, “Don’t care, Lou,” then moves one of his hands down to play with Louis’s balls. Louis inhales sharply. “Been dreaming about this for a month,” he says, surprisingly sweet considering their current situation, and leans back down to engulf Louis’s cock once more.

By now Louis has completely lost any sort of upper hand he might have once imagined that he had, and it certainly isn’t something he wants to argue. Besides, Louis is _painfully_ hard at this point, has been since entering the dressing room at just the idea of getting to have Harry again. The reality of the beautiful boy on his knees in front of him has Louis pretty sure that he’s not going to last long at all, so he’s not terribly worried about causing Harry any lasting damage.

That’s the last coherent thought Louis has for a while, as he gets caught up in the majestic sloppiness of Harry’s blowjob. The thing about Harry is that he’s so bloody enthusiastic, moaning around Louis’s cock like a fucking porn star. If Harry hadn’t told Louis during their weekend of boning that he found sucking cock unbelievably hot, Louis would probably think it was fake.

As it is, though, Louis figures that probably no one becomes as accomplished of a deep-throater as Harry is without getting some deep enjoyment out of the act. He pokes at Harry’s dimple, feeling his cock within Harry’s mouth, and grins down at him. “Missed you, Harry,” he says simply.

Instead of responding verbally, Harry lets out a high whine and takes Louis down even further, so that he can feel-- _Christ_ \--the back of Harry’s throat, as he swallows around Louis. Louis moans in turn, feeling the tightness as Harry works to accommodate him. 

“Harry, love, I’m not going to last,” Louis pants, and tries to pull out a bit. “M gonna come, darling,” he protests, when Harry digs his fingers into Louis’s hips to make him stay where he is. Harry makes eye contact and somehow manages to make it look like he’s smiling around Louis’s dick. It would probably be disgusting if it was anyone other than Harry doing it, but as it is it’s hot enough to make Louis come.

It feels like he comes for ages, feels himself spilling down the back of Harry’s throat and making him choke a little. Louis rubs Harry’s head in concern, but when Harry finally is willing to pull off of Louis, he’s wearing a broad smile that convinces Louis it really was alright. Harry clambers up on the counter next to him and tucks his face into Louis’s neck.

“You’re amazing,” Louis tells him sincerely. “Can’t believe I’ve missed out on six weeks of that.”

Harry lets out a bit of a moan, and Louis, still a bit breathless from his orgasm, manages to reach a hand over to Harry’s still-clothed cock. “A bit hard, there, darling?” he jokes. Harry huffs at him and starts trying to unzip his trousers, though Louis’s hand is clearly blocking his progress.

Louis smiles at Harry and begins to help him after a minute, hearing Harry’s sigh of relief. “Are you clean, love? When’d you shower?”

Befuddled, Harry says slowly, “Er. Just before the performance? Had a quick one here at the theatre.”

“Fabulous,” Louis grins, and he knows that he probably looks like the Cheshire Cat ( _ha_ , Cheshire), but he can’t be arsed to care. Louis gets Harry out of his trousers and shirt, moving them over to sit with Louis’s own clothing, before carefully and slowly helping him get his pants off.

“Can you get on your hands and knees on the counter there for me, love?” Louis asks.

“We don’t have any lube,” Harry says confusedly.

Louis gives him a wink and says, “Wasn’t planning on that, Haz,” and Harry’s eyes grow wide as he finally realises what Louis intends. It looks like he’s perhaps a bit nervous. Not exactly the reaction Louis was hoping for.

“Are--” Harry cuts himself off with a gulp. “I’ve never done this before,” he tells Louis hesitantly. Jesus. Louis is literally the luckiest man that has ever lived.

Louis leans over and kisses him soundly. “I think you’ll love it, darling,” he says gently. “Just want to make you feel good. But if you don’t think you’d like it, I’m always happy to blow you.”

Harry nuzzles into Louis’s neck for a moment, leaving a kiss on his collarbone. “No, I’d love to. Just, like--I might not know what to do.”

Louis kisses the top of his head. “That’s the beauty of it, love. If I’m doing it right, you don’t have to do much of anything.”

With a bit of a giggle, Harry gets up off of Louis and clambers onto the counter a bit awkwardly. Louis moves up towards Harry’s head and gives him another kiss before settling in on the counter to crouch behind him.

Louis hasn’t licked someone out in _ages_ , but he’s quite excited to do it for Harry. And to be the first, Christ. He teases a bit to start, kneading Harry’s perfect little bum with his hands and sucking small love bites into Harry’s thighs, feeling Harry relax beneath him and start to make small pleased noises.

Once he thinks Harry’s relaxed enough, Louis moves his tongue up slowly and licks a small circle right around Harry’s rim. Harry immediately stiffens, and Louis can’t tell if he’s aroused or just uncomfortable. His next lick is a little more cautious, a light stripe going across Harry’s hold and tracing a trail up the cleft of his arse.

At that, Harry’s back unclenches and fully arches, and Harry lets out a loud moan. Reassured that Harry isn’t secretly hating this, Louis gets bolder, and moves back to Harry’s hole, placing small kisses around it before he finally licks inside.

Harry loses it completely and lets out a high whine while simultaneously falling down onto his forearms. Louis smirks a bit inwardly and continues, finding a pattern of fucking his tongue into Harry and licking around the hole to give the rest of the area attention--and to give Harry a chance to catch his breath. He manages to get himself low enough to nuzzle at Harry’s balls for a moment, producing perhaps the loudest reaction he’s elicited so far.

Louis faintly prays that no one is still backstage, or he’s going to have some incredibly awkward conversations tomorrow. He moves back to rimming Harry, but sneaks a hand around to grasp at Harry’s cock. Once he gets a hand around Harry, he can feel the precome that’s gathering at the head.

Slowly, Louis starts to wank Harry while continuing to lick inside and around his hole. Harry’s past any sensible words, each movement of Louis’s punctuated only with a faint whine or a muffled chant of _Lou Lou Lou Lou_. Louis is caught up in focusing on even Harry’s most minute responses to everything, satisfied in the knowledge that he’s the only person who’s made Harry feel like this.

He can feel that Harry’s getting closer, torn between rocking back into Louis’s tongue and forward into his fist. Louis starts wanking him a bit faster while fucking his tongue into Harry’s hole as deep as he can, loosening him up slowly. When Louis takes a finger from his free hand and traces it around Harry’s rim before gently pushing it inside, moving directly to nudge at Harry’s prostate, he feels Harry abruptly clench around him before coming, whining Louis’s name and spilling over his fist.

Louis keeps licking at Harry through his orgasm, waiting until he’s sure the aftershocks are over to slow down and then finally place a last kiss at the top of Harry’s hole. He pats Harry’s gorgeously pert bum and pulls his other hand away from Harry’s cock.

“What’d you think, love?” Louis asks with absolutely no hint of smugness whatsoever.

“Erngh,” Harry answers, still pressing his face into his arms.

Louis takes this as the testament to his sexual prowess that it is and jumps off the counter, walking into the toilet to wash the come off his hand. He comes back with a paper towel in his hand to wipe Harry off and finds that he hasn’t changed positions at all.

He’s fairly sure that he’s smiling indulgently as he runs a hand over Harry’s back and says, “Hazza, darling, you do have to move eventually. You know we have to go back to the reception, yeah?”

“Don’t wanna,” Harry murmurs, sounding very far away.

Louis scoots up on the counter and forces Harry to turn about so that he’s more or less laying on the counter with his head in Louis’s lap. He starts gently petting at Harry’s curls, eliciting a satisfied sort of a purr. Harry is really one of the oddest people Louis has ever met.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry drawls as Louis runs the paper towel over his stomach, “d’you think we would’ve called that an explosive erection?”

They look at each other and immediately dissolve into hysterical laughter. “Penis jokes,” Louis gasps out, and Harry laughs even harder.

Louis is more sure than ever that Harry was worth waiting for.

\--

“Where’ve you been, you fucking arse?” Zayn hisses, grabbing Louis’s arm as soon as he spots him back at the party. 

Louis can’t be bothered by Zayn’s obvious irritation. He just gives him a beatific smile and shrugs.

Zayn purses his lips and takes a breath, clearly ready to ream Louis over the coals--and then immediately pushes him to arm’s length in disgust. “You tit,” Zayn says, clearly horrified, “you smell like sex.”

Once again, Louis doesn’t do anything but grin. Zayn rolls his eyes with more strength than Louis knew was possible for a human. Zayn always manages to surpass expectations.

“This is the most important night of your career!” Zayn whisper-yells at Louis, shaking his shoulder a bit. “Pull yourself out of your sex haze and go mingle with the donors. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m friend’s with such a fucking idiot.”

Louis just giggles a bit. “Love you, Zaynie.”

“Oh my god, I am literally never speaking to you again,” Zayn tells him. “Get it together, Lou, Simon’s coming over now.”

Sure enough, Louis turns to see Simon approaching both of them. “Congratulations, my two stars!” Simon shouts cheerfully as he comes closer.

Louis decides that his overly enthusiastic smile is _exactly_ appropriate for this event. “Thanks, Simon,” he says while Zayn gives him a brief death glare.

After that, Zayn clearly decides it’s best if he carries the conversation, since he keeps pinching Louis before he can say anything. Louis is fine with that, especially since he’s spotted Harry again, standing across the room and talking with Niall.

Harry still looks a bit debauched, hair clearly sweaty and face flushed pink. Louis feels quite proud of himself for getting Harry to look like that. After a moment, Harry notices that Louis is looking at him as well, and the two make eye contact, sending messages through their locked eyes and small smirks that are making Louis quite excited for the rest of the night.

Simon seems to have exited the conversation without Louis noticing, since his eye messages with Harry are rudely interrupted by Zayn bodily forcing him to look in another direction. “You’re bloody useless,” Zayn says flatly. “Stop eye-fucking Harry and either work to further your career or just leave already.”

Louis considers the options. On the one hand, he almost definitely should choose “work to further your career.” On the other, it sounds like he might already have completed that part of the night, since he’s spoken to Matthew Bourne and been told to expect a call.

Fuck it all, he’s choosing to leave already. Louis spins back around to look back at Harry (who was clearly staring at Louis’s arse) and gives him a meaningful wink. “Goodnight, Zayn,” he says cheerfully, and walks away.

He can hear Zayn’s increasingly creative death threats behind him, but Louis absolutely cannot be bothered. After all, Zayn’s a principal dancer now. It’s good for him to learn how to network.

Louis only has to wait at the bottom of the escalators for a moment before Harry appears, smiling widely and reaching out a hand to Louis before he’s even fully off the stair. Grinning back, Louis takes Harry’s hands and firmly intertwines their fingers.

“Zayn said I was useless and should just leave,” Louis tells Harry smugly. 

“He never,” Harry says suspiciously.

Louis swings their hands a bit and starts guiding Harry out of the theatre. “You’re right, he just called me useless and said that if I couldn’t get it together I should just leave. Don’t think he was expecting me to choose to go, but it’s his own fault for offering it as an option.”

Harry leans over and gives Louis a peck on the cheek as they walk outside. “Good man, Zayn,” he says, eyes shining.

“I picked a good best mate,” Louis agrees. “Now, is yours or mine closer to here?”

\--

Louis’s flat, it turns out, is closer.

He realises when they arrive that Harry’s never actually been in it before, and blushes a bit at the mess that he’s let develop all over the apartment. Louis isn’t exactly the neatest at the best of times, but during the last week of technical and dress rehearsals, his flat has fairly exploded into a pit of clothes strewn everywhere and dirty dishes that must have multiplied while he’s been out.

“Er, sorry for the mess,” Louis says faintly. “Wasn’t--wasn’t really planning--”

“Don’t care,” Harry cuts him off, and crowds Louis up against the wall of the entry to pull him into a deep snog.

Well, Louis can get onboard with that. He wraps his arms around Harry and loses himself in the kiss, still in a floaty haze of disbelief that this is all really happening.

“God,” Louis breathes after a moment, feeling Harry hardening against him, “want you to fuck me, Haz. Your knob should be illegal, it’s so gorgeous.”

Harry takes in a sharp breath, and Louis can clearly feel him getting harder even through the layers of fabric between them. “You--you want me to--”

“I do,” Louis says sadly, “but I have a performance tomorrow.”

Harry just looks at him in confusion, clearly not seeing the connection.

“Have you looked at your own dick? It’s fucking enormous, mate. I don’t think I’d get through a single scene without limping if I’d been riding you the night before.”

“That’s really a shame,” Harry says slowly, “but as it happens, I’ve been fantasizing about riding you for six weeks now.”

This time it’s Louis’s turn to inhale sharply, and he feels his mouth go dry. “I--yeah, that sounds nice,” he croaks.

“Good,” Harry smiles, with a bit of a predator’s look to him. “After all, I don’t have to get up on a stage tomorrow. Doesn’t matter if you make me limp. Think I’m open enough from you fucking me with your tongue?”

“Er. We might--might have to examine that,” Louis gets out. He can’t quite believe how _arousing_ he finds just Harry’s words alone. Louis is already hard enough to start leaking precome, so he can’t imagine that this is going to be his most impressive display.

Fortunately, Harry moves back half a step, eyes innocent, to allow Louis to move. “Ready to take me to bed, darling?” he asks sweetly.

“Fuck, yes,” Louis says honestly, and pulls Harry into the bedroom, pushing him towards the bed and making sure he lands on his back.

Somehow, it’s all even better than Louis had remembered--getting a finger lubed up, getting it inside of Harry, then being able to move quickly to three fingers since he _is_ , in fact, still somewhat open from Louis’s thorough rimming earlier. Louis can’t imagine how he could have forgotten a single detail of their weekend together, but sometimes in retrospect he’d worried that he was exaggerating it all to himself. That Harry couldn’t _really_ be as beautifully responsive as Louis was remembering. That they didn’t somehow innately understand each other’s moans and whines as the cues that they were. That sex with Harry wasn’t infinitely better than sex with anyone else.

Fortunately, Louis hasn’t been misremembering at all. Harry’s just perfect for him. They’re perfect _together_ , he thinks incredulously as he lubes up his condom-sheathed cock. 

“Still want to ride me, darling?” Louis pants out. Harry nods eagerly and they switch positions, Louis laying back while Harry crouches over him, shifting around a bit until he’s ready to sink down.

Both of them groan in unison as soon as Harry gets the head of Louis’s cock inside, and _Jesus_ , Louis forgot how fucking amazing Harry felt. In some ways, this is even better than having Harry underneath him, since from here, Louis gets to watch as Harry falls apart a bit on top of him. As Harry sinks down excruciatingly slowly, he’s already got a bit of sweat on his brow, and he’s biting at his lip in what looks like an attempt to hold some of the noises in.

That won’t do at all. Louis reaches up and twines their fingers together, grabbing Harry’s attention to his face. “Let me hear you, love,” he says softly, and opens the floodgates.

Harry lets out a long, high whine that only rises in pitch when he manages to get Louis all the way inside. Louis gasps a bit too, telling Harry, “Jesus, Haz, you--you’re so--better than I--”

Even though Louis can’t get out full sentences, Harry seems to understand what he means. He bends down and kisses Louis’s nipple, then starts to rock back and fuck himself on Louis’s cock.

Every time that Louis thinks that something with Harry is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, Harry manages to prove him wrong. Seeing Harry pushing himself up and down, gasping with all of the sensations inside of him, Louis is sure that there is nothing more beautiful in the entire world.

Tentatively, once he thinks that Harry can take it, Louis starts rocking his own hips. Judging by how Harry keens above him and throws his head back, Louis is smugly sure that he made the right decision. He continues, keeping a steady rhythm targeting Harry’s prostate, which Harry compliments with his own movements, driving Louis fucking crazy with the small, broken noises that he keeps making.

Harry’s hot, and tight, and just really fucking beautiful and all in all Louis doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be expected to keep it together. He hopes that Harry isn’t expecting him to last much longer, because he can already feel himself starting to leak precome again. He looks at Harry’s thus-neglected cock, and sees that it looks painfully hard, almost purple and jolting with Harry and Louis’s movements. Thank god, it looks like Harry’s getting close to the verge, too.

With what feels like a fantastic amount of effort, Louis reaches a hand up and places it on Harry’s cock, thumbing at the head and feeling the precome already there. Harry moans loudly at Louis’s touch, arching his back so far that Louis is almost a bit concerned from him. Louis starts to jerk Harry, spreading the precome around his cock. He’s far past being able to find any lube.

“Harry, babe,” Louis gasps out, “Close, I think--it’s not going to be much longer--”

Harry just closes his eyes tighter and starts to fuck himself even faster, moving with a speed that suggests he’s close as well. If Louis hadn’t already been awed by Harry’s thighs, he certainly would be now, because he doesn’t know how he’s been keeping this pace up for so long. Louis starts to tug faster at Harry’s cock, moving his palm quickly to press a finger at Harry’s slit, then further down, pinches Harry’s balls.

Almost as soon as Louis does that, Harry lets out a long whine and fucks himself back desperately as he starts to come, spurting over Louis’s hand and onto Louis’s stomach. Louis smiles in a vaguely self-satisfied way, and asks, “Want me to pull out, love?”

Harry nods faintly and stops moving to fall onto Louis’s chest. “Want you to come on me,” he pants out slowly, and, okay, Louis is fine with that.

He manages to pull gently out of Harry, wincing at how oversensitive he knows Harry must be, and flips Harry into Louis’s former position on his back. Louis is already on the edge, and it takes less than half a minute of wanking himself, gazing at Harry’s flushed face and fucked-out eyes, before he’s coming on Harry’s stomach with a shout.

Spent, Louis falls down on the bed next to Harry and nestles his head onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry manages to utterly shock him, though, by running a finger deliberately through the mess on his stomach and putting it slowly into his mouth, licking Louis’s come carefully.

“You’re a monster,” Louis says faintly, “most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Louis can feel Harry’s smile as he bends down and presses a kiss to Louis’s head. “No, _you’re_ the most beautiful thing,” Harry argues gently.

Louis shakes his head stubbornly but doesn’t argue further. “I’ll get up for a flannel in just a minute, love,” he promises.

“Kay,” Harry says, sounding like he’s already falling asleep. Louis isn’t far behind him, to be honest.

“So glad you’re here, Haz,” Louis whispers, before he falls under himself.

\--

“You’d better not fucking disappear from this reception, you wankers, I know your ways,” Zayn says sternly before pulling Louis into a hug, then releasing him to hug Harry in turn. “Also, like, congratulations and all that.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for, like, showing up, and all that,” Louis mocks. “Is that all I get?”

Zayn scoffs. “I’m not making your head any bigger than it already is. Bloody hell, Matthew Bourne chooses to mount _one_ production around you and you’d think you’re the second coming of Christ.”

Louis and Harry both laugh, before Harry says with great sincerity, “It’s actually his sexual prowess that makes him sure he’s the son of God.”

“Oh my god, I hate you both so much,” Zayn moans. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to know about your sex life? I never tell you about sex with Perrie, because I am secure in my relationship and don’t feel the need to broadcast the details to everyone in the world.”

Louis sneaks an arm around Harry and tells Zayn, “Oi, you don’t want to get into a relationship contest. I don’t see you and Perrie living together, for instance.”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “I’m respecting Perrie’s desire for continuing independence. Unlike some people, we don’t feel the need to be perpetually glued together. And are you going to go talk to anyone else?”

“I like my new Prince better than you,” Louis says with his nose in the air, and almost holds it together for a full ten seconds before dissolving into giggles at Zayn’s expression of high offense.

“I don’t like you _at all_ ,” Zayn says haughtily. “Now, you terror, go take your showy relationship elsewhere. Perhaps to thank your benefactor.”

And, okay, Zayn is actually right and Louis should probably go talk to other people. He leans over to give Zayn a showy kiss on the cheek before dragging Harry through the crowd towards Matthew Bourne.

“Louis!” Bourne exclaims as he sees the two approaching. “And my favourite upstart choreographer! Louis, you were fabulous tonight.”

“Thank you, sir,” Louis says, more quietly. He’s still a bit shy around Bourne, who wasn’t around much for the mounting of the new _Swan Lake_ production. “I just want to say again, how much I really appreciate you taking this chance on me. I’ve loved getting to be a part of all this.”

Bourne squeezes his shoulder. “You’re one of the best Swans I’ve ever seen. I would have been crazy to not involve you in this production somehow.”

Louis shifts a bit. He’s not great with compliments. “Thank you, again. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Well, go celebrate!” Bourne tells him. “You’ve certainly earned it. You, too, Harry. Make your boyfriend relax.”

“Gladly, sir,” Harry says with a wicked smile. “It takes a lot to calm Louis down sometimes, but I’ll certainly put all of my efforts into it tonight.” Bourne bursts out laughing, and Harry pulls a shell-shocked Louis away.

“I can’t believe you said that! To Matthew Bourne!” Louis hisses as Harry draws him through the crowd. “Christ, you’re so embarrassing.”

Harry stops suddenly and pulls Louis to face him, giving him a sappy smile. “But you love me.”

“God help me, I do,” Louis sighs, but it’s somewhat negated by the wide smile on his face.

Louis crowds up into Harry and just gazes up at him for a minute, still shocked by his luck after nearly a year. He raises himself up on his tiptoes to give Harry a sound peck, but Harry grabs onto him and turns it a bit deeper than Louis had really intended.

Even though he might be flushing when he pulls away, Louis’s smile is broader than ever. Especially since he can hear Zayn gagging behind him, and Niall catcalling them.

“I’m the luckiest bloke in the world,” he tells Harry softly, and he means every word.

“Not quite as lucky as me,” Harry rejoins. 

They’ve had this argument hundreds of times, and Louis knows it’s not one that he’s going to win. So he pulls Harry down for another kiss, and just lets himself feel like the luckiest man in the world without saying it out loud.

No matter what Harry says, he knows it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for reading this! all of the lovely things people have said really mean a lot to me. please let me know what you thought, in the comments or on [tumblr](balanceds.tumblr.com/)!! i promise i'm nice and love talking to people!

**Author's Note:**

> as i said, this work will be completed by next thursday (5/15)! right now i am planning to have chapter 2 up on monday and then put the third and final chapter up next thursday. altogether this fic will probably be somewhere between 30k and 35k. 
> 
> i hope that you enjoyed my ballet fixation! leave a comment or come talk to me about it on ze [tumblr](http://balanceds.tumblr.com)!! thanks for reading :)


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